


no saints

by lightyaers



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Flirting, Consensual, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, I just know it's fun, I literally have no idea what I'm doing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Din Djarin, Reader Insert, Rough Sex, Sarcasm, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Swearing, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, Writing this because of Rough Day ffs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyaers/pseuds/lightyaers
Summary: “So, why’re you here?” You finally asked, remembering that he had no reason to have visited you.“Habit,” Mando replied honestly. His one-word answer cut through you like a knife, striking your core and filling it with that warmth once again. It wasn’t often that you felt exposed, but sat opposite him, in your home, hearing him be so unapologetically honest had simply made those thoughts of him rise to the forefront of your mind once more.You forced yourself to swallow down these rising wants, to push them away completely, before putting on a small smile. “That’s a funny way of saying that I’m your only friend,”Working on Nevarro hadn't offered you much in the way of human contact.That all changes when an unlikely deal is struck between you and the Mandalorian.
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Comments: 51
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! So, today is actually the day... this is my first time ever writing smut in about 6 years of fic writing. To say I'm nervous would be an understatement, but this show has reduced me to a mess. I blame no-droids on Tumblr for prompting me to try writing my own smut with the one, the only, Din Djarin. 
> 
> This story has a female reader and I've tried not to include things like names or descriptions, sometimes it sucks when there's a Y/N thrown in there. It's also gonna be SLOW BURN TO HELL. Like, this is the first instalment at over 7k words, and it's nowhere near being fully steamy just yet. (Also, this is the longest chapter I've ever written, of anything). 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this! Please don't hesitate to give me feedback if you want, this fully is my first time delving into smut writing and any comments would be brilliant to receive. Thanks so much. 
> 
> lightyaers x

Working as a mechanic on Nevarro didn’t often gift you the visual of friendly faces, and that was no different with the Mandalorian—he never showed his face. You wouldn’t know his smile even if he decided to wake up one day without slotting Beskar all over his body.

But you knew his stance, the broadness of his shoulders, his preference for short range blasters with the safety close enough for his index finger to reach before firing at will. You didn’t really _know_ people on Nevarro, but you knew their weapon of choice.

It was knowledge that had ended up being valuable, both to your survival, and to that of the Mandalorian.

“I’ll pay you for this information,” He offered bluntly. He never begged, nor did he show his true emotions within his modulated voice very often. The only vague emotion you’d seen him give off was anger—seething and insatiable— the first time he’d ever approached you for a repair.

“What good will this information give you?” You asked, genuinely. “I don’t know their names, this is hunter country. No one ever gives away their identity,”

“A weapon needs someone doing the firing,” He replied simply.

You agreed to his terms, partly from the initial fear that he would harm you, think you to be working against the Guild, but also from the generous sum he was willing to give you for every piece of information you passed onto him.

And thus, began a sort-of partnership that you’d never expected.

You were no saint. You knew the damage done by the goods you willingly sold to trained killers, assassins, Guild members. You saw the bodies dragged from their ships to the Guild, you saw the bounties that went out, kicking and screaming and spitting at their captors—

You saw the blood and dirt and flakes of flesh with every weapon upgrade or repair, but now, you didn’t bat an eye. It was business, it was your livelihood, and it was _good money,_ thanks this this agreement with the Mandalorian that you’d made a while back.

Mando arrived back on Nevarro every few weeks. His condition was always subject to review; sometimes he flowed through your doors, ready for a quick exchange; other times, he took his time with it, sitting opposite you as you went through the recent repair logs, discussing the types of people that came through your doors.

Over the months, however, he always ended up sticking around for longer periods of time. Whether it was from earlier exhaustion, or the normalcy of having a conversation that didn’t end in bloodshed, you didn’t mind. He was the only constant in your life, splitting up your weeks and months when, before, honest interaction had basically been at zero.

“Are you not worried?” He asked one evening. It was late, and your shop was technically closed. You’d awoken to the subtle clicks of your entrance being lockpicked, hoisting yourself out of bed in nothing but your nightwear and grabbing the blaster you kept by your pillow.

You’d rushed to the shop front, aiming your blaster right at his chrome covered head. He’d raised his hands immediately, not once going for his own weapon. The feeling in the pit of your stomach as you lowered your weapon hadn’t been one of anxiety, but of warmth—he trusted you enough not to grab his weapon, not to even incline that he was going to shoot you.

“Worried about what?” You replied, flicking through the logbook.

“A bounty escaping, knowing that you shared this information,” You stopped flicking through the pages, freezing slightly where you sat opposite him. You sensed his sudden unease, deciding to look up directly into his visor.

“Tell me this, Mando,” You began. “What’s my name?”

He looked at you blankly, but you liked to imagine what facial expression he pulled beneath his helmet. In this moment, you imagined he was almost _panicking,_ trying desperately to think back at what your name could be. It’d been over six months, yet names were never properly discussed. His silence proved that he’d just realised this.

“See? You don’t know it. My face is somewhat known here, sure, but my name? I try not to share it as much as you try not to show your face,” You sent him a raised brow smirk. Innately, you felt you had a responsibility to come across stronger than you looked, which is why you shoved down those subtle flickers of anxiety that arose from his question.

Sure, you had those doubts, anyone would. But living on Nevarro, doing what you did, it was an element of the job that you simply had to expect. You suspected Mando also knew that feeling well.

“You’re single-handedly keeping me in business, Mando,” You chuffed, almost sadly, but kept up an unbothered attitude. “I wasn’t going to turn this down and all these months down the line, no matter the _danger_ , wouldn’t change that.” You ended, and you could have sworn you heard him _breathe out_ , almost as if he was relieved that you knew these conditions from the beginning.

You kept flicking through the logbook, until you finally stumbled across a repair. “Here it is,” You perked up, shuffling yourself round so Mando could see the book over your shoulder. Your index finger grazed the page, just underneath the line he was looking for. “Repaired his blaster pistol last month. He didn’t look like a hunter, more like a scared blurrg, from what I can recall,”

“Young? Old?” Mando questioned.

“On the young side, definitely. Looked more like a runaway than anything else,” You added, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest. Usually, you divulged the weapon information of other hunters gone rogue, wanted by the Guild; assassins and thieves, or whatever other dirt washed up on Nevarro and in your shop.

This, however—you _remembered_ him. He was young, he was scared, shaking like a newly born calf when he’d bumbled into your shop.

“That fits the bill,” Mando stated, before rising from his seat. You followed suit, making your way back round your front work desk and slotting the logbook beneath it. You tried to keep your expression blunt when you turned back to him, but you couldn’t help the wave of overthinking that landed in your brain.

You stared at him, leaning against the desk until your shoulders rose to cover your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting out a sigh, but evidently that was enough for you to get the Mandalorian’s attention.

“What?” He spoke harshly, in the same old modulated boom you were used to hearing. You forced yourself to stay still, trying desperately to find his eyes beneath the abyss of his dark visor, but of course it was no use.

“Don’t break into my shop next time,” You diverted your emotions. “Just knock if it’s after hours,”

Mando nodded once, the moonlight gleaming off the chrome that surrounded his face for just a second, before disappearing once more. He shuffled a leather gloved hand through his satchel for just a few seconds, before approaching you at the work desk.

Unceremoniously, he placed your pay in front of you, each credit dropping with a small _ping_ against the metal surface.

“See you,” Mando said bluntly. You nodded in return, before the Beskar covered man left your shop swiftly, shutting your door gently on his way out. You stared at the credits disapprovingly, before going to relock the door behind him.

You forced yourself to shuffle through your pay, counting the credits so you could note them in your budget, but you furrowed your brows as you finished rounding them up. You _must_ have counted them wrong—there were an extra _five hundred_ credits than what you’d agreed with the Mandalorian all those months ago.

Shaking your head, you went about recounting them, only to get to the same exact outcome. Was it an honest mistake in his counting, or had he _overpaid_ you? Tipped you, helped you, heard the way your voice had almost faltered when you’d told him he was keeping you afloat?

You were awash with a new type of conflict—somewhere between thanks and extreme anger. The thanks were certain; he’d listened, and he hadn’t _needed_ to do that, but he’d done it anyway. The _anger;_ this implied you _owed him_ now. As much as you’d come to enjoy his occasional visits every few weeks, the man was still an utter mystery to you. You didn’t want him to have the option of springing up in here and asking for a favour, knowing that he’d done one for you prior.

But there was still a _warmth_ —it came subtly and out of the blue often, when you were around him. You could have slapped yourself at how fast it came this time round, taking you by surprise and speeding your heart rate up beneath your ribs.

_He’s a bounty hunter. Get over it._

You placed your usual cut in your savings bundle, in the safe by your bed, but the extra five hundred stayed out of that bag. You shuffled back into bed with no indication of tiredness flooding over you again. All you saw in the static darkness of your grimy bedroom was the outline of that damn helmet—

And the wonder of what lay beneath.

The next week and a half was long and soul-crushingly slow. You’d had about three repair requests total, completing them all in a matter of hours, not making more than a few thousand credits from the sales. Nevarro had seemed restless recently, with less hunters returning to the Guild for more pucks. Maybe it was just a slow week.

Mando arrived back in the evening again, after you closed your doors early for the weekend. The sunlight trickled over Nevarro sparsely, but that evening was particularly warm, so you decided to have some _fun._

Your shop had a back courtyard, nothing major, but you’d transformed it into a mini-firing range a year or so back. You were firing a classic blaster when you heard him approach from behind you—you _jumped_ out of your skin at the sight of him, blaster raised, defensive stance donned.

“I told you to _knock,_ Mando,” You boomed out, clutching your heart and switching the safety on your blaster immediately. Mando raised his arms in subtle apology, but you could have sworn you saw the subtle shake of his shoulders beneath the Beskar.

“You sounded... busy,” He spoke, and you squinted at him, feeling your cheeks flushing. The bastard was _laughing._ He was silently giggling beneath his helmet, the only indication of his lapse of stoicism being from the tiniest movement of his chest and shoulders, almost indecipherable.

You shot him an amused scowl. “Did you—,”

“I locked it,” He replied, already knowing what you were asking. You gulped down surprise at his immediate response, turning back to your makeshift firing range and trying desperately to calm yourself down.

Now, you were a _strong_ woman, that was no question. But the constant mystery of the last six months in Mando’s presence had provided you with _more_ than you’d bargained for. Was it a reflex to suddenly feel invested in this guy’s life after a while? To want to know his backstory, his missions, his favourite _breakfast food_ or blaster style?

The extra credits from your previous trade had only increased these feelings. What was it about a man in a mask? Or, more specifically, what was it about _Mando_?

And now, as you awkwardly struggled with the safety on a blaster you’d been firing since you were twelve fucking years old, all you could think about was the tone of his voice as he’d said _I locked it._

“You shoot?” Mando questioned, moving round to stand next to you. You shot him a smirk, trying to conceal the thoughts within your head.

“I don’t just _repair_ blasters, if that’s what you mean,” You could have cringed at how cocky you’d sounded, but it was too late.

“Show me,” He spoke. He didn’t demand it, but the way his voice arched it was as if he could make anyone do _anything_ he said, just from the steadiness of that modulated drawl.

You did as you were told. You shook off your limbs subtly, before flicking off the safety and aiming at the targets you’d made. In flashes of green, you hit one, two, _three_ targets with ease, right in the centre of their bullseye.

You changed it up, feeling a surge of _confidence,_ or perhaps the want to impress this stoic man. Skilfully, you flipped the blaster in your hands until it had transferred to your other hand, firing another three times on the same targets and hitting them dead centre once more.

Your index finger clicked the safety on, before you stood in place, admiring the shots you’d fired.

“Try this one,” He said beside you, before he plucked the blaster from your hand and replaced it with this own weapon. You looked it over as it slotted into your grasp. It was heavier than yours, bigger, with a more distanced safety, probably because of the hand width that the Mandalorian possessed.

You furrowed your brows at his blaster, smiling at the way the steel glinted. It was well cared for, polished and gleaming, but slightly worn away around the trigger. Well-used. His own personalised weapon.

You raised the blaster towards the targets, all too aware of the way that chrome helmet was tilted towards you. You steadied your arm, applying just the right amount of pressure against the trigger, before it fired in quick succession—

You analysed the blast fire, the weight, the wind, fixing your trajectory upon impact with the trigger in a matter of milliseconds. When you stopped firing, overseeing the new collection of burning holes in the targets, you realised you’d hit them all dead centre again.

To your _delight,_ or to your utter _amazement_ , Mando let out a low, long whistle from beneath his Beskar.

“That’s a custom weapon,” He spoke afterwards, moving to stand before you. “Not many people could change their shooting style like that to fit the blast radius,” It was the closest thing to a compliment that you’d ever heard him offer.

You stayed silent as he replaced his blaster with your own once more, sheathing his weapon before his visor looked straight into your soul. It was shameful, how you realised you could probably stand there and analyse the chiselled and curved edges of his helmet for hours, how if you focused strongly, you could see him breathing beneath his heavy armour.

You forced yourself to step back, looking back towards the shop. “Right—business,” You said, heading inside immediately with Mando following on your tail.

You dropped your blaster on your work desk, grabbing the logbook and getting ready to flick through it once more, before Mando spoke up.

“I seek no information today,” He revealed. You froze, before slotting the logbook back beneath the desk slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his reason for visiting you.

“Okay,” You said, upon rising from beneath the desk once more. All of a sudden, you remembered his _money—_ burning a hole in the safe in your room. You perked up, slapping your hands on the desk for lack of what the fuck to even _do_ before getting round to almost scolding this man. “Then, I have a _bone_ to pick with you,”

Mando dropped himself onto his usual stool, flicking his cape behind him and leaning back in subtle comfort. You swallowed, trying not to interpret anything from his clearly at ease behaviour, before heading to your bedroom quickly.

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” He spoke up from the shop floor, and your heart _skipped._ Was that an attempt at a _joke_? At some comedy? You had to stop yourself, as you got to the floor and riffled through your safe for his overpaid credits, from allowing a warmth to spread through your gut.

You wanted to _curse_ , as loud as you could. Had it really been _that long_ that you were getting flustered over words from a Mandalorian? Undoubtedly the most hostile and unwelcoming people the galaxy had?

Or, was it just Mando himself that had you overthinking every sentence, every visit?

Credits secured in your fist, you made your way back out to the shop, dropping yourself opposite him and grabbing his arm suddenly, not stopping to think that this man could probably break you in half with his bare hands.

You dropped the credits in his gloved hand, sitting back as he stared at the pellets he now cradled in his palm.

“Not what we agreed,” Is all you said in explanation, picking up a tankard of water and sipping some down your throat, for lack of knowing how to cover up your neon cheeks after the exchange. _The weather. It’s just the heat._

“I upped your pay,” He retorted.

“ _Bullshit_ , Mando,” You retaliated, allowing a few chuckles to escape your lips. Your face softened then, as you looked over to him, sitting awkwardly, still not knowing what to do with the returned credits. “Your money is your money, Mando. I’m fine with what we agreed,”

His fingers finally clasped around the credits, as his body went back to relax against the wall once more.

“Your shop,” Mando began. “You said I keep you in business,”

“That doesn’t mean I want more of your credits. Owning a washed-up weapons repair shop on kriffing Nevarro isn’t ideal, but neither is being a bounty hunter,”

“You’d earn more as a hunter with the way you shoot,” Mando replied instantly. You perked your brow, sending him a small smile.

“Are you saying I’m _not_ a good weapons mechanic?”

You almost burst out laughing with the way Mando straightened himself, immediately being on edge. His fists tightened, almost as if he was suddenly overthinking if he’d insulted you or not.

“N-no,” He partially stuttered out, but you couldn’t keep your laughter contained. You burst out in giggles, overseeing his complete lack of sarcastic understanding. It was endearing; it made him appear more _human_.

“ _Joke_ , Mando. It was a joke,”

He relaxed after that once more, albeit more hesitantly. He went to slot the credits back in his bag placed on the floor, and as he did so, you allowed yourself to indulge. Beskar gleamed as he leant down, showing the twist of his torso and outlining strong triceps on the small amount of him that was unarmoured.

His neck was slender, compared to the size of his helmet. You wondered how the hell he wore that thing constantly. It didn’t look light, nor did you expect it to be all that comfortable.

If he saw you gawking when he rose once more, he didn’t make any indication of noticing. To avoid revealing what you’d been doing, you moved to cross your legs as a save. “So, why’re you here?” You finally asked, remembering that he had no reason to have visited you.

Mando tensed up slightly at your question, but not enough to come across as surprised. He’d already admitted to not needing information from you today.

“Habit,” He replied honestly. His one-word answer cut through you like a knife, striking your core and filling it with that _warmth_ one again. It wasn’t often that you felt exposed, but sat opposite him, in _your home,_ hearing him be so unapologetically honest had simply made those thoughts rise to the forefront of your mind once more.

You wanted to _know_ him, but you also knew that asking him these things would result in nothing good.

You forced yourself to swallow down these rising wants, to push them away completely, before putting on a small smile. “That’s a funny way of saying that I’m your only friend,”

All effort to force those feelings away _dissolved_ , as soon as you heard the low, modulated chuckles from beneath his helmet. They floated through the room, along with the image of his shaking shoulders and tight chest as his laughter tumbled to the floor.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately, knowing that it would be a noticeable blush. You grabbed your tankard, bringing it to your lips as you continued to indulge in looking at him, as he calmed down from the small burst of laughter that he allowed himself to show you.

There was something pulsing within you that you simply couldn’t contain; that want; that desire, after so long without _knowing_ anyone on this godforsaken planet. Before you could stop yourself, words were already tumbling from your mouth.

“I don’t see many people on this planet, besides you,” You admitted. Mando slowly turned his visor to you, making it known that you had his full attention.

You immediately felt too vulnerable, resulting in you standing from your seat and heading round to your work desk, slamming the tankard down on the top. “It’s... well, it’s _nice._ I hope that, even if you _don’t_ need information, you continue to come by,”

You held your breath as soon as you stopped talking, too afraid that you’d overstepped a line. Not that this transaction with him had ever been _professional,_ but you knew Mandalorian’s were inherently focused on their job, and their job only.

When he didn’t reply, or _move,_ or _do anything,_ you started to panic. You played it off as best as you could, by downing the rest of the water in your tankard and averting your gaze to beneath your work desk, like you had the immediate need to start taking inventory.

Mando rose a few moments later, grabbing his satchel and placing it over his shoulder. The breath caught in your throat as he approached your desk. You almost gasped as a gloved hand reached for your forearm, dragging it out to hover in front of him.

He dropped the five hundred credits into your palm as your eyes flicked over his helmet at light speed. He stepped back, removing his grip from you and placing his visor upon your face one last time, before turning on his heels and heading for the door.

He unlocked it, but didn’t open it. You felt your pounding heartbeat as he cleared his throat. 

“It is,” He let out lowly. “Nice.”

The door swooped open and shut behind him gently before you could say anything in return.

He didn’t come back the next week. You wondered if you’d scared him off, if your tiny confession of enjoying his company was too much.

You thought back to the way he’d said the word— _Nice_ — as if it wasn’t something that was often spoken in his vocabulary. For a man of little words, you were increasingly amazed at how he managed to convey things with his body alone, being weighed down and covered up by Beskar at all times.

The credits still weighed on you. You’d given them back to him, you’d made yourself _clear_ , but then he’d given them back and left without a trace.

You prayed to some god out there that it wasn’t a Mandalorian way of saying goodbye. From what you knew of Mandalore, which was very little, you knew they weren’t the gift giving types, but it still made you _think_.

Yet all that he’d done, despite the deal, the trade of information and the abrupt middle of the night awakenings, those small attempts at light-hearted banter and void visits had given you just a shred of hope.

People on Nevarro were cut-throat, you knew that better than most after making your home there for so long. That’s why this shook you to your core, sparking this unlikely partnership with someone such as Mando.

Stars, you _missed_ him. It sounded ridiculous when you said it in your head, but you did. Contact was little to none on this planet.

You didn’t speak more than a sentence to people needing repairs. You didn’t sit down and talk, and _fuck_ , the loneliness was something you were used to— yet six months of regular meetings, even just to trade information, had offered you a warmth you hadn’t realised you’d missed—

Until he was gone.

It wasn’t until three weeks later that you ventured out of the shop, certain that you were going mad. You hardly frequented the bar at the entrance of the city, choosing to stay safe and locked away in your small isolation inside the shop, but the absence of people was sucking you dry.

You entered the bar, making sure not to seem out of place. It was still an odd feeling, seeing people sitting around and drinking. You knew a lot of the locals— returning customers for repairs, all of which were hunters.

Perhaps there was some unspoken understanding that you weren’t to be touched, as the small nods of hunters hit you when you accidentally met their eyes. It almost made you feel known, but at the same time you hadn’t felt _much_ since that last conversation with the Beskar clad hunter.

You were heading towards the bar when a voice rang out behind you. “Miss!” You swivelled on your heels, hitting his eyes.

It was Greef Karga. You knew him, _everyone_ on Nevarro did. He was the Guild contact here, the one that most hunters got their pucks from for the next job.

“Karga, hello,” You replied, not politely, but not harshly. Being polite got you nowhere on Nevarro, and you knew that despite his smiles and willingness to be friendly, Karga was a snake in the grass.

“Drink?” He questioned, and you found yourself accepting his offer. You made your way to his booth, slotting yourself in opposite him. He grabbed a bottle of blue liquor from the floor by his feet, clicking at the droid behind the bar for glasses. “What brings you here? You don’t usually venture from your establishment,”

You regarded him, all too aware of the blaster on your hip for safety.

“Slow few weeks. Fancied a change of scenery,” You replied bluntly.

“Ah yes, business is slower than usual currently,” He admitted. A droid placed two shot glasses on your table, scuttling back to the bar. Karga swiped them towards him, uncorking the bottle and filling up both glasses. “But your repairs are stellar, and I hear your custom blasters are best sellers,”

He dragged a glass towards you, which you took once he’d taken his hand away. You swilled the liquid around, trying not to look too despondent.

“Parts are sparse,” You admitted. “Fewer hunters need new gear. I’m starting to think there’s someone _better_ than me on Nevarro,”

Karga let out a coarse laugh, which you first mistook for a chesty cough. His smile was indication enough, however, of the funniness he obviously though that required.

“No, my dear, there’s no one better,” He replied. You chose to ignore him calling you dear. Opposite you he raised his glass to the sky, prompting you to do the same. “To good business in future,”

You nodded at him in response, before downing the blue liquor in one gulp. It burned as it slinked down your throat, hitting your stomach and causing a warmth to spread through your gut. Nothing like the small conversations the Mandalorian gave you, but it made you feel _something_ — and that was in short supply around here.

Karga sighed in refreshment after slamming his glass back on the table, but his gaze fixed on something behind you as you deposited your glass back down. “Ah, Mando!” He exclaimed.

Your heart _stopped._

You stayed utterly frozen in place, feeling a mixture of anxiety and adrenaline surge through you.

“That was fast. I wasn’t expecting you back for another few days at least,” Karga continued.

You tried not to let the hurt surge through you. So, he _had_ been back since your last meeting. He’d been back, and he hadn’t come to visit. You tried to rationalise your hurt— he held no obligation to stop by the shop, he held no responsibility, yet— you _wished_ —

_You wished he would have._

“I trust you know our resident weapons mechanic,” Karga continued, gesturing to you. You forced yourself to turn round and look at him— face to face. His helmet stared at you blankly in response, and you wondered what expression he held beneath.

Maybe it was annoyance, thinking he was finally rid of a nobody mechanic from the inner city.

Maybe it was surprise, or hurt, or pain. You knew that despite the immense effort you were putting in to keep your stare blunt, he’d see right through you.

“Yes,” Mando replied after what seemed like hours. You turned back to Karga, pushing your glass to the middle of the table in dismissal.

“Thanks for the drink. I’ll be going,” You got up swiftly, standing in front of Mando after leaving the booth. He looked down at you, chrome visor focusing on your eyeline. You found yourself flicking your eyes from the left and right, as if you could see the placement of his eyes beneath the helmet—

Then you looked away.

You sauntered out of the bar, ignoring exclaimed farewells from Karga as you booked it out of the bar, heading straight back to the shop. Your strides were fierce, your heart pounded painfully beneath your ribs and you couldn’t stop yourself from balling your fists.

You felt like screaming, but you kept your mouth shut and your jaw tense. You felt like punching, kicking, pounding something, but you didn’t, instead opting to breathe it out as you entered your shop and slammed the door shut behind you.

_It’s fine. It’s fine._

You yelled at yourself to calm down, to accept that it was _nothing._ God forbid, you’d gotten worked up over the smallest indication of human interaction, from a man whose face you’d never fucking seen, no less.

It was _stupid._ You’d long grown out of enjoying fairy tales, and this _wasn’t_ one. You were a grown woman, hyper-fixating over a six-month long dodgy deal with a bounty hunter that you didn’t fucking know— not _really_ , anyway.

In a frenzy, you unsheathed your blaster, heading out to your courtyard. You fired at will, not stopping to aim your blaster or even try to hit the targets. When that got dull, you actually started to try—you positioned your feet parallel to your shoulders, straightening your spine and extending your neck—

You fired, hitting the targets dead centre every time, just like normal.

You fired until your trigger finger began to ache, until the incessant anger and hurt in your chest had dissipated to a low roar that you could manage in other ways—with the bottle of Coruscant whiskey that you only saved for special occasions; big deals, good months, and, evidently, to _feel_ something other than red, hot and seething anger.

You went to sheath your blaster, when the hairs on the back of your neck pricked up—

You turned swiftly, raising your gun and keeping your eyes wide open. You faltered when you saw the familiar glint of moon rays on chrome. Mando stood in the courtyard doorway, just as he’d done the last time you’d seen him.

Your elbow buckled, dropping the blaster to your side as you kept yourself composed. You stared him down like you were unbothered to see him. You had a feeling he knew that wasn’t the case, though, and if he’d been there for a few minutes before then your incessant firing would have proven otherwise.

“Mando,” You spoke first, keeping your voice steady. “What information do you need this time?” You kept it professional, not wanting to think back about the way you’d been so blatantly vulnerable to him before. He probably thought you to be childish, over-emotional, idiotic.

You’d rather he thought you to be that, than _weak._

“What were you doing with Karga?” He _demanded_ it this time. His voice was low, lower than usual, despite the modulator. You sheathed your pistol, stepping towards him once. He didn’t move aside.

“Drinking,” You stated the obvious. You made a move to try and get past him, but a Beskar covered forearm leant up against the doorframe, stopping you even more so.

“He’s bad news,” He continued. You let out an annoyed scoff.

“I _know_ who Karga is. _Kriff_ —I _live_ here,” You accidentally let your annoyance travel through your words, making it exceptionally clear that you were _pissed_ , if it hadn’t been obvious before.

You grabbed his forearm, tugging it away from the doorframe and pushing your way inside. He let you pass eventually, watching as you grabbed a bottle of whiskey from beneath your work desk. You jumped up onto the desk, letting your legs droop over the side as you uncorked the bottle.

It was silent. You could tell he was trying to find something to say, to bring up the obvious tension, but you also got the sense that Mando didn’t often apologise.

_Why should he? He didn’t promise to come back._

He hadn’t promised. You had no idea _why_ you were so ticked off, yet there you were—seething, angry, hurt, perhaps on the brink of tears, but _possibly_ relishing in the fact he’d come to the shop after your little encounter. You felt sick at your own feelings.

“Are you... mad at me?” He spoke finally. The breath caught in the back of your throat. His hesitation made it clear; he didn’t often delve into the workings of others. He was being _kind_ by even asking you about this.

You felt like a _dick._ All of a sudden, you could see even more so that you were being incredibly irrational. Weeks of zero contact had turned you into a moron. A lonely, overthinking moron.

You glanced up at him, holding the whiskey between your thighs. You let out a sigh.

“No,” You let out. “I’m sorry. It’s been... a strange, few weeks,” You chuckled slightly after speaking, bringing the bottle to your lips and taking a small gulp. “Loneliness is a disease, Mandalorian,” You added, taking another sip and slotting the bottle back between your thighs.

Mando moved from the doorway, striding towards you slowly. You stayed in place, focusing on the warmth that the whiskey provided you with. You finally looked up when he stood before you, not close enough to slot between your hips, but close enough for your knees to graze against Beskar.

He reached out for the bottle, grabbing it from between your thighs and making his way around to the main shop. You went to turn, but the leather of his gloved hand slotted itself between your jaw and your neck, pushing your gaze to the back of the shop.

“Don’t look,” He told you, warningly.

You did as you were told, all the while counting your shallow breaths as they quietly shook from within your body. You heard the subtle glug of the bottle, the _drip_ as the liquid sloshed around within the glass, and then the bottle was being slotted back between your thighs from behind.

Mando’s arm wrapped itself around you as he made sure it was back in place, his glove grazing over the top of your thigh and skimming your waist as he retracted his arm back. You’d be lying if you didn’t _relish_ in those small touches.

They set your skin alight, despite there being no skin-to-skin contact involved. It was the closest he’d ever come to you, allowing the gentler side of himself to appear. You’d never see him this way; guard down, a softness to his voice and his unknowing gaze.

You knew that he’d just raised his helmet to take a sip of whiskey—that was enough to make you _gulp_ back the desires within your gut. You couldn’t believe he’d felt comfortable enough to do that around you. You hesitantly turned, waiting to see if it was allowed, but fully turned to him when he didn’t push your gaze away like before.

You swivelled on the top of the desk, bringing your legs round to droop over the other side, while Mando grabbed his usual stool and dragged it closer to you.

He sat, sighing slightly as he did so, before looking up at you sat before him.

“Solitude,” He spoke. “I prefer that word,” His voice was soft. You knew he was tired just from the way he spoke; he was _exhausted._

“Solitude implies a sense of peace,” You replied, stepping carefully over your words. “Do you feel _peace_ in your ship, all alone?”

“Do you feel _peace_ in this shop?” He hit back with, avoiding your question completely. You were about to say _no,_ but you stopped yourself. This shop was all you had, all you knew. Your choice of _loneliness,_ over _solitude,_ was an obvious indication of the way it made you feel, and you wanted to bet that Mando knew that, but—

Without this life, you didn’t know where you’d be.

“It’s all I have,” You admitted, finally. He nodded subtly, not moving his visor from your face.

“And _this_ ,” He said, gesturing to the Beskar he donned. “Is all I _know_. This is the Way,”

You looked down, swinging your legs back and forth for lack of what to do. You wanted to know more—you _always_ wanted to know more about Mando, that was a given. But _right now,_ you wanted to ask him everything.

“Is that why you stopped coming here?” The words trickled from your lips pitifully, but you had no choice but to accept that you’d spoken them.

Mando was silent for a few moments, but he made no indication of looking away from you. You wondered if, beneath the helmet, he was _actually_ looking at you. Maybe he was zoning out, or was focused on the wall behind your head instead.

“I feared continuing to visit you would become a habit I could no longer break,”

There it was—that _warmth._ It erupted within your gut, winding its way up your spine and neck, circling down your limbs and to the spot between your legs that you always chose to ignore. You tensed up immediately, forgetting about the whiskey bottle between your thighs as the sensation only increased the wobble of your upper thighs.

“Like you said,” Mando continued, and you could have sworn that his voice sounded _strained._ Like he was holding back, like his body was almost forcing him to stay quiet. He stood suddenly, causing a small gasp to leave your lips involuntarily, as he strode forward to slot himself partially between your legs. “Loneliness is a disease,”

You went jelloid when a hesitant hand was placed on your thigh—

_Stars, it’s been a while._

You were slowly beginning to unwind, as Mando placed his other hand on the opposing thigh, slotting himself further between your legs. As much as you wanted to speed this up, to feel skin touch skin, you didn’t know if that was actually _possible_ for the Mandalorian.

“M-Mando,” You stuttered out, but it only made his grip tighten around your plump skin. You instinctively raised your hands to his chest, feeling the smoothness of his Beskar. “Just— wait,” You managed out, despite all of your senses not wanting him to stop what he was doing. His visor shot to your face quickly and his hands fluttered away from your thighs.

You wanted to cry— that’s not what you’d meant—

You swiped your hands across his Beskar chest plate, reaching down for his large forearms. You heard the breath hitch in the back of his throat, as a small moan escaped his modulator.

You placed his arms back on your legs slowly, but he still looked on his guard, wondering what you had to say.

“Loneliness is a _disease_ ,” You spluttered out. Your cheeks were flushed a neon red, and you could feel the rapid heartbeat erupting from beneath your ribs. “It’s— _overwhelming_ ,”

When he didn’t move or speak, you wanted to kick yourself. Had you done it again? Revealed something that was too much and reduced yourself to a vulnerable mess? For a moment, you thought Mando could smell the weakness within you, but even you didn’t realise you’d unwind this fast at the most subtle of touches from the Mandalorian.

You froze when he raised a gloved hand to pinch your chin. His thumb was firm but gentle, his other fingers curled just beneath your jaw, and his stare was unwavering.

Stars, your whole body _throbbed_ at his touch. You wanted more, but you also didn’t want it to end as quickly as it had started, and you’d meant what you’d said— overwhelming. It was a red, hot heat that you hadn’t felt in years, it was something that you’d have to get used to again, and from the fumbling touches that Mando gave you, you felt he might be in the same boat.

His thumb slowly made its way to your mouth, gliding back and forth over your bottom lip. You were positively glowing, feeling the intimate touch of the hunter for the first time after what seemed like months of fantasy—

You’d had dreams of him, falling asleep to the image of his helmet or the way he slumped on your stool every so often, so desperate to see what lay beneath his armour.

“You’re overwhelmed?” He needlessly questioned. The way his voice trickled all over you was enough to make your body surge towards his once more. You had to stop yourself from reaching for his waistband, overcome with a hunger that you hadn’t been expecting. “It’s okay. We have time,”

With five simple words you could have collapsed to the floor right there. All too soon, his touch vanished from your skin. You leant forward has he removed himself from you, stepping back while you tried desperately to get his touch back.

The whiskey bottle between your legs slipped suddenly, toppling from its place between your thighs as you realised you’d started to open your legs wider where he’d stood between your hips. You grappled at air to try and stop it falling, but it fell from the desk—

Right into a skilful gloved hand. Mando gripped the bottle with a ferocity that you knew he’d wanted to grip you with, before stepping forward once more. He slotted the bottle between your thighs once more, but right in the nook of your upper thighs—

You shivered uncontrollably as both hands came to cradle your thighs, pushing them together to keep the bottle in place.

You watched, defeated, as he picked up his satchel from the floor and slung it over his shoulder, staring at you atop the desk when he was ready to leave.

“If I see you drinking with Karga again, I won’t be as gentle,” Despite his efforts to keep his voice strong, you heard the breathy way he spoke.

It filled you with a confidence that had disappeared as soon as he’d first placed the bottle back between your legs.

“You’ll have to catch me first,” You challenged. You couldn’t stop yourself from sending a smirk his way, and it had the desired effect—

Mando dropped his helmet to the floor as the most subtle of groans escaped his lips. He swivelled and turned, heading for the door immediately afterwards.

He opened it, letting in the cold Nevarro air. You watched as he slinked out of the door, pulling it shut from the outside—

And then there was silence. You breathed out a shaky breath that you didn’t realise you’d been holding, grabbing the whiskey and taking a large gulp as you tried to regain your composure fully.

You went to bed that night utterly elated, his chrome visor appearing behind your eyes all the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this all in one day. I literally have no idea what the fuck has come over me, but apparently I've discovered that I LOVE writing smut. How haven't I done this sooner? Anyway-- enjoy. Don't get used to the double uploads lmao, just thought I'd get the ball fully rolling before semi-regular updates. 
> 
> lightyaers x

If the time without Mando for those three weeks had led you to a mad sense of loneliness, the days after your previous encounter with him had driven you to _insanity_.

You woke the next morning with a start—the dream you’d been having was _more_ than you’d ever bargained for. You cursed as you sat up in bed, bringing a hand down to between your thighs.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” You let out breathily, before you had to laugh at yourself to move on from the absolute embarrassment that your own body had put you through. You showered immediately, indulging in the flood of hot water more that morning than you’d ever done previously.

You had to stare at yourself in the mirror afterwards, noticing the blush on your cheeks that was still present from the night before. You pointed at yourself sternly, towel wrapped around your uncontrollable body.

“Snap out of it— _stop_ it,” You told yourself.

Never before had a man reduced you to a puddle with a single touch—of your _legs._ It wasn’t even anywhere remotely private, just the upper portions of your thighs. But that bottle; he’d _known_ what he was doing, placing it almost harshly in the crevice closest to the most vulnerable asset your body possessed. Pushing your thighs together afterward had been the last straw. If he’d lingered, you wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d erupted just from the tension in the room, just from the involuntary clenching that your legs were betraying you with.

Mando would never find out about that dream, over your dead fucking body. You could almost imagine his reaction; the subtle chuckles from beneath his helmet, transforming into something else as he inched ever closer towards you, sprawled, ready—

“ _Kriff!_ ” You yelled into the mirror. You shook your head a few times to get the image out of your head, before vowing _not to go there,_ at least until your workday was done.

You grudgingly got ready to open up shop, checking inventory and wiping down your work desk. You wished you’d somehow dragged him to your bedroom instead the night before; seeing the desk in daylight only increased the tightness in your gut. _Dank farrik_... today wasn’t going to be easy.

But you endured.

You repaired blaster after blaster, adding modifications to old models and polishing until you thought your fingernails would fall off. You wasted no time over the blunt conversations with hunters, only saying what you needed to and waiting to get paid.

This went on all week. The same old grind, the same desperation within your gut. You tried to stay focused and productive, not stopping even for a minute, since your mind would immediately float back to the Beskar clad hunter if you did. You found yourself in your firing range a lot more often, choosing to practice and keep your mind straying from thoughts of _him—_

Thoughts that, despite the one-track mindedness of your pulsing heart, also ended up travelling to softer realms. You wondered if he was safe, if he was _okay._ You wondered if he was well-fed, well-hydrated, well-rested—

You wondered if he also felt the loneliness of his solitude more so after your last encounter. Stars, you wondered if he _missed you._

_I feared continuing to visit you would become a habit I could no longer break..._

Oh, man. That sentence alone reduced you to a red-faced mess, but more so towards the gentler side of things. Mando had a heart, that was certain—he also had a _cock_ , that was _definitely certain._ You slammed your fist on your work desk, making yourself jump at the sudden display of utter madness.

You’d never had to cope with this level of _sexual frustration,_ but stars, it was real. You’d never been bothered, not really. Nevarro had been sparse in offering you that kind of intimacy, but you’d had it occasionally. A few visiting hunters, here and there, taken in by the immediate attraction of a cut-throat killer and the intelligence of a woman mechanic such as yourself.

But nothing had ever come of them; no weekly visits, no long term plans. You didn’t particularly _want_ anything either. Having attachments only existed to make your life a lot more difficult, especially given the nature of most of the people you’d acquainted yourself with over the years.

There was no telling when they could accidentally mess up and never come back to collect their pay from Karga.

You realised that was why Mando had been so reluctant to return, after your small confession of enjoying his company. He, too, knew what his job entailed. God forbid, he never came back. God forbid, you were killed in your own shop. It was a definite possibility, but one that you didn’t often allow yourself to conceptualise.

You were too lost in thought to notice someone walk into the shop, but when you finally looked up, you immediately restored yourself to a professional.

“Can I help?” You asked, not wasting time to give him a smile. He was a young man, probably no older than yourself. His outfit was typical of all first-time Guild members; too big for their boots, too cocky looking with the way they peered around a room. They were the _worst_ customers by far.

He sauntered up to the desk, slamming his blaster down and hardly meeting your eye. “Cartridge needs replacing,”

“Six hundred credits,” You said in return, not bothering with any niceties. “Upfront,” You added. Immediately he rolled his eyes, but nevertheless dug into his deep pockets.

“Seems a little pricy, don’t you think?” He perked his brow at you, finally meeting your eye, only to send you a playboy smirk.

“If you don’t like my prices, change the cartridge yourself,” You offered bluntly. He scoffed, going to place his credits on the desk, but he stopped abruptly. You sent him a questioning look, before he fully retracted his hand and put the credits back in his pocket.

“Four hundred,” He offered up. Your eyes widened immediately, as laughter burst from the back of your throat. You couldn’t stop the chuckles from escaping your mouth, all the while his face was dropping ever so slowly into a scowl.

“You’re really trying to _haggle_ with me?” You let out, but your voice was already turning more poisonous. You got paid fucking pittance with the amount of work you actually got around here, and this fucking kid was really trying to undercharge you even more? No. Not fucking today. “ _Get out_ , kid,” You said, scowling at him warningly. “And good luck getting a cartridge change on this kriffing planet without me,”

He gulped worriedly, and you knew you’d got him. He started shuffling in his pockets again, getting out his credits once more.

“Okay—six hundred—,” He gave in.

“Eight hundred,” You interrupted. His face utterly dropped, revealing some of the wimpiest puppy dog eyes you’d ever seen on Nevarro. This kid was lucky he hadn’t been beaten up in the bar already. He smelled like Daddy’s money and cockiness. “For that insulting attempt at a haggle, eight hundred. Upfront,”

You saw him struggle against the rising anger in his throat, just _waiting_ for him to either explode, or hand over the credits like a good little boy. Either way, you were prepared for a fight. It’d been a while since a newcomer had challenged you; and you _liked_ a challenge.

He pulled an empty hand out of his pockets slowly, as you watched him with an unbothered expression. He was _seething,_ you could see the red winding its way up his neck—

And then his blaster was pointed at you, right between the eyes.

You let out a colossal sigh, but more than anything, you were sort of _thankful._ What a way to expel your frustrations this would be. The saddest part was, though, that this kid was just so _stupid._ He’d come in for a fucking cartridge replacement; that meant his gun was fucking caput. He wouldn’t have been able to shoot you even if he’d tried.

“You’re cute,” You let out finally, noticing the slight wobble of his arm the longer he kept up the act of being threatening. “Go on—shoot me,” You prompted, raising your arms in a fake surrender.

When he didn’t pull the trigger, you made it _easier_ for him. You came out from behind the desk, walking round towards him. He began to falter, backing himself up into the corner of the shop. “Hey—just, wait— _wait there!”_ He yelled, and you did as he said, rolling your eyes unenthusiastically.

“Come on, do it. I’m an unarmed, _poor_ , alone woman in her _little_ shop on such a _horrible_ planet. Shoot me. You’d be doing me a favour,” You pouted at him sadly, taking a melodramatic approach before you knew what your plan would be—

_Kicking his ass._

When you saw him falter, just for a second, you chose then to strike. You grabbed his blaster, pulling him towards you as you snapped your elbow down on his arm harshly—the _crunch_ was enough to determine you’d just utterly broken his damn arm, but his screams were even more so in that favour—

He let out an excruciating groan, tearing up suddenly and dropping his blaster to the floor as his hand seized up. You pushed him away, hoisting a knee underneath his ribcage as he let out another yelp in pain. He stumbled back into the wall, next to the door, as tears slowly dragged down his cheeks. He was clutching his limp shooting arm close to his chest, taking in deep breaths and letting out wracking sobs.

_Maybe I’m a sadist, but fuck this guy._

You couldn’t help but smile, going to pick up his blaster as he continued to whimper at his snapped arm. He lolled himself over to the door, slamming it open with his foot and backing out of your shop. You dangled his blaster in your hands, before fucking _launching_ it at him—

He let out another yelp, ducking out of the way before it slammed right into his pretty boy face. You strode out of the shop, watching him flail about like a fish out of water to grab his gun, before booking it round the corner and probably off the planet as quickly as he could.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” You yelled after him, waving sweetly as the last of him disappeared round the corner of the street. “ _Prick_ ,” You whispered under your breath, scoffing at the entire encounter with this kid.

Sure, you’d missed out on six hundred credits, but _fuck it._ Men were so quick to think they had the upper hand, especially the _dumb ones._ If a bounty hunter was experienced, they’d always have their guard up, no matter what you looked like at first glance, and they certainly wouldn’t have underpaid a Nevarro resident. That was a fucking death sentence. You just happened to be _gentler._

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” His modulated drawl came from behind. Within seconds, your heart was in your throat. You turned to him, trying to ignore the way your face was immediately gaining colour.

You smiled at his helmet, taking him in wholeheartedly. _God,_ you’d missed his silence. It was oddly comforting—not like white noise, not like static, but just the subtlety of his breaths travelling through the modulator.

“He had it coming,” You replied, taking a few strides towards him. “Little shit tried to haggle me for a fucking cartridge replacement,”

“I know,” Mando said. “I saw him go in,” He revealed. Pins and needles spread all over your body with no warning.

“You— _saw_ all that?” You questioned, but by the amused tilt of his helmet, he’d already answered your question. He saw _all of it._ His visor probably had heat signature capabilities, which meant he’d seen you breaking his arm, kneeing him in his ribs and _heard_ all the rest.

“You can fight,” He said it in the same tone as when he’d talked about your shooting. Like he was _impressed._ Or proud.

“There’s _lots_ I can do,” You let out, allowing the cockiness of your voice to seep through. It was a joke, just an attempt at a laugh, but Mando took it in a different direction.

“I don’t doubt that,”

You tried not to utterly collapse as his tone turned into more of a growl. It hit you in your very core, causing that familiar feeling in your gut to start back up again, much against your efforts to push it down for the past week.

You headed back to the shop, Mando close on your tail. He shut the door behind him, and the sound of him twisting the lock hit your ears pleasantly.

He often did it, even before the subject of whatever _this was_ between you had risen. Maybe he didn’t want people following him; didn’t want people catching on to his secrets of where the hell he was getting extra information.

“You’re back earlier than I thought you’d be,” You said, trying to spark a conversation like normal, despite the 6ft mound of sexual tension that Mando had brought inside the shop with him.

“I got lucky,” He explained. “Caught up to a runner on a whim. It was an easy fight,” You grabbed your water tankard as you made your way to your usual stool, sat opposite the hunter. “Much like the fight _you_ just won,”

You sent him an amused smile. “He was a puppy. I probably scared him away from Nevarro for the rest of his life,”

“If it wasn’t you who’d done it, he’d probably be dead by now,” Mando added. He was right; others wouldn’t have been so lenient on a fool who ran their mouth like him.

“That’s a nice way of easing my conscience about breaking his arm like a twig,” You scoffed out, taking a drink of water.

“Does your conscience need more easing?” He questioned, and you looked at him plainly. This was a double-edged sword— if you said yes, it only proved that at times you felt uncomfortable about the way people dealt with things here. If you said no— would he think you to be harsh?

_No. He kills people for money. A broken arm is nothing to him._

You shook your head sternly. “He got what was coming to him,” You replied. “No one insults me in my own establishment and leaves unscathed,”

Mando settled in his seat, leaning back against the wall. “Good girl,”

Your gut coiled immediately. Fuck— this _man_. This _fucking_ man. He knew exactly what he was doing with his words, and he knew it well by the way his helmet tilted towards you once again.

You were torn between punching him in the stomach or utterly jumping his bones, but you did neither. You only squirmed in your seat, praying that his thermal sensors weren’t picking up the rising heat between your legs.

The silence was broken by something you weren’t expecting— a groan— from his _stomach._

You glanced at his Beskar covered belly then back to his visor, smiling subtly. “Hungry?” You questioned.

Mando visibly tensed. “It’s fine,”

You knew he couldn’t eat freely. That would require taking his helmet off. From the way he’d warningly told you to look away while he sipped at whiskey before, you knew the helmet was a part of who he was. If you were to hazard a guess, you’d say no one _alive_ had ever seen his face—

No one had ever trickled their eyes across his features, his eyes, his nose. Even drinking in the same room as you had taken six months of built-up trust for him to perform.

You stood gently, heading to your work desk and opening up the cupboards beneath. You laid out some basics— bread, butter, some cheese, leaving it on the desktop before you grabbed your favourite blaster.

“I’ll be out back,” You told him. He stood abruptly as you turned to leave.

“You—,” He began, halting you. “You didn’t have to,”

“Just eat, Mando,” You scoffed out. “I don’t want you going hungry in my home,” Your cheeks flushed as soon as you’d finished talking. That was _personal—_ it implied you wanted him to be comfortable, you wanted him to _enjoy_ his time with you.

You nodded at him once, making your way outside to the courtyard and shutting the door behind you. You chose to shoot away your embarrassment; how many times did you have to _check yourself?_ How many times did you have to think back on your words and realise you’d said something stupid?

You shot three times, only hitting one target dead centre. You cursed at yourself, repositioning your feet and forcing yourself to breath slower.

Would he leave if he knew you were starting to _care_ for him?

You shot once, missing the target entirely. _Fuck. Come on._

Would his guards go back up if he realised that you _enjoyed_ his visits more than he’d ever fully know?

Twice more— you skimmed the edge of the target on both.

“Fucks sake,” You muttered, only getting more flustered as you failed with each blast, instead of getting rid of the frustration within you.

You breathed out slowly, allowing your body to fall into a stance naturally. If you overthought your shooting, you always failed. If you _felt it_ —felt the trigger and the barrel and visualised the blast, you always got it spot on.

But, evidently, you were _distracted._

You aimed at the target, breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth, but your arm had started to shake subtly—

You felt him behind you before you could turn around. He positioned himself parallel to you, shoving his chest into your back and bringing his hand up to steady your shooting arm. He gripped his fingers around your forearm, twisting you slightly until he was happy with the way the shot lined up.

Your eyes widened when you felt his other hand come to sit snuggly upon your waist. His hand was large enough to squeeze you tightly, balancing you as you realised you’d been tilted to the left the whole time.

His helmet shone in your peripheral, coming to hover over your right shoulder and tilted toward your face. You didn’t waver—you kept your eyes forward and focused on the target before you, despite the fucking _urge_ to look at him—

Stars, it was a _strong urge._

“You know how to do this already,” Mando spoke coarsely. God, his voice sounded like butter. It wasn’t _helping._ “What’s got you this shaken?”

_Bastard._

He _knew_ it was because of him. And he was _relishing_ in that fact. Without a second thought, you pulled the trigger—and it _missed. Again._ You were ready to explode, but instead, you gasped.

Mando moved his hand from your waist to wrap completely around your stomach. You could feel the strength in his muscles, in the way he was _hugging_ you from behind. Your legs started to waver next, as if they’d completely forgot how the fuck to stand up.

“Try again,” He prompted, his voice deepening with arousal. He was _enjoying_ himself. He was enjoying you like this, like a toy, like a game. You imagined his eyes trickling down you from this angle, feeling your pulse quicken as his grip on you didn’t falter. He could _definitely_ feel the shake from your legs; they were positioned just below his groin.

You forced yourself to ignore these feelings, tensing all of your muscles to somewhat numb yourself from his touch, before you fired again.

It _missed_ —unsurprisingly.

His arm immediately moved once more, snaking its way beneath the soft fabric of your shirt until you felt cold Beskar upon the bare skin of your tummy. Oh, _fuck—stars._ The breath hitched in your throat before you could stop it, as a moan trickled from your mouth involuntarily.

It only riled him up more, as he slammed his body closer to your back. You heard the unmistakable sound of his strained modulated breathing, feeling nothing but his body pushed up behind your own, his hand tightening its grip on your bare stomach and digging into your flesh slightly.

“Try. Again,” He spoke roughly, like it _pained him_ to talk.

You gulped down the need to yell. You wanted to tell him he _wasn’t helping._ You wanted to tell him to wind his hand further up your shirt, but instead, you were hit with the want to frustrate him even more.

You kept your gaze plastered on the target, but you allowed yourself to don the smallest of smirks. “What happens if I miss again?” You whispered out.

Mando wasted no time with giving you a physical demonstration. He pushed himself further into you, shoving his arm further up your shirt until his palm laid in the space between your breasts. You shivered at the sensation of cold metal upon your soft, supple, skin—skin that was rarely touched by anyone else by yourself.

You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming, slamming your free arm back until you were gripped onto the undershirt beneath his Beskar. You already knew your knuckles were white from the sheer force your fingers had clasped onto him with—Stars, how you’d _love_ to tug off his armour this way.

It was his turn to growl then, as his arm only tensed over your skin. His shooting arm was still and steady as ever, next to the wobbles of your own—you were _jelly_. And there was nothing you could fucking do about it.

“Hit the target and I’ll stop,” He offered. Your brain flooded with an idea, something to make him realise how fucking _bad_ you wanted this. Abruptly, you swiped your arm upwards to the sky, firing the blaster without any hesitation. It soared up into the air before it disappeared into the approaching dusk of the Nevarro sun.

It was an obvious message; _don’t fucking stop._

Before you had the chance to process _anything,_ his shooting arm moved at light speed to grip your inner thigh. You squirmed uncontrollably, immediately trying to shove your legs together, but Mando’s knees intercepted you. He made it impossible to move your legs, boxing you into this stance like a doll.

He was covering you on all sides; your back, your front, your sides. You were effectively trapped in this man’s grasp, doomed to suffer a game of hit the target while your body fought against your attempts at any form of concentration.

“I—,” You began, stuttering through your words and fucking forgetting how to speak, as his fingers started to crawl further up the crevice between your thighs. “Don’t want you to stop,” You forced out, causing a moan to burst from Mando’s lips.

You had to release your grasp on his shirt from fear that your fingers were about to _fall off,_ but that didn’t stop you from moving your hand closer to his waistband. As you struggled to reach around, your hand grazed over his bulge—

Without warning, Mando peeled himself off of you, letting out the most _ragged_ groan that you’d ever heard him produce. He stumbled backwards as his arms swiped away from your skin, until you heard the slam of Beskar against the wall behind you. You swivelled round immediately, still shaking from the fucking _pleasure_ you felt, but you were more concerned about his sudden collapse.

“Mando?” You questioned, rushing forward towards him as he slumped against the wall, but he stuck out a hand, halting you before you could properly approach him.

“ _Fine_ ,” He breathed out. You saw the strenuous way his chest was inhaling and exhaling, hearing the utter strain of his breaths from beneath his helmet. You let him stay like that for a few minutes, allowing him to catch his breath as you also tried to regain your full composure. Stars—you could _feel_ the warmth of yourself between your legs. You’d bet that you were dripping, and it wouldn’t have surprised you in the slightest. 

Your limbs were still overcome with that jelloid sensation, refusing to move in ways that you were used to and instead forcing you to adopt a sort of groaned hobble. When Mando finally looked up at you, red faced, sweating, breathing calmer and still clutching the blaster by your side, he let out an amused scoff.

“You were right,” He finally spoke. “It’s overwhelming,” He groaned when he got himself up from the wall, straightening himself as his desires slowly faded away. You were coming back to yourself too, feeling the utter amusement of the entire situation.

How long would it take two touch-starved loners to actually have sex, without one of them _collapsing_ before it?

You finally walked over to him, tentatively reaching out to grab his forearm. He let you drag him back to your former position, but without the burning sensation of the sexual tension from before. You gently placed his hand onto your waist, bringing his other to the forearm of your shooting arm.

It was the same position as before, the same stance, the same proximity—

Without hesitation, you fired the blaster, hitting the target dead centre. You relished in the achievement, despite knowing you’d had the ability to do it all along. You took comfort in the fact Mando hadn’t removed himself from you just yet, that he was settling into the nooks of your body, your waist, your lower back, feeling comfortable enough himself to stay placed next to you.

It was a sorely missed sensation, just being close to another human being. You could feel Mando realising this same exact feeling; feeling himself getting used to this level of intimacy once more, with it not necessarily being just sexual, despite both of you having those _very strong_ urges.

“I wonder what had you so shaken before?” He cooed in your ear. You rolled your eyes instinctively, turning around to look at him face on. It prompted him to move both hands to sit on your waist—a new feeling, but one that you both seemed to like.

“Shut the fuck up,” You let out, smiling all the while.

“That’s rude,” He hit back with. You could practically _hear_ his smile beneath the helmet.

“Don’t ask such _idiotic_ questions, then,” You gave him a single smack on chest, not expecting the Beskar to _fucking hurt that much._ You immediately doubled over, clutching your wrist, before you started jumping on the spot at the tingling pain your hand was throbbing with.

Mando was _amused._ The prick.

“I _tapped_ you, what the hell is Beskar’s problem?” You stuttered out, waving your hand about and flexing your fingers to avoid numbness.

“It doesn’t like you,” Was all he said, before grabbing your arm and dragging you back inside the shop. He shut the door while you jumped up onto your desktop like normal, dropping your legs over the side, still holding your hand.

“Well, I don’t like _it,_ ” You retorted. You looked up at his visor, shooting him a smirk. “I’d much rather you _weren’t_ wearing it,” You let out in a whisper, somehow hoping he wouldn’t entirely hear it, but of course he did.

Mando let out a modulated sigh, heading to sit on his usual seat in the shop. You tried not to giggle at his exasperation, but it was simply comedy gold. This stoic man, reduced to absolute pieces by the subtle graze of your fingers over his, very _hard,_ cock.

“We have time,” He replied, before a tense silence flooded through the shop floor once more. You were exhausted after such a hard week, it was true, and this encounter had only sapped up your last remaining energy. You expected Mando felt equally as tired, slumping himself in the chair and continuing through the aftermath of earlier.

“We have time,” You repeated, feeling a welcoming sweetness to replace the ferocious fire in your gut from before. It was fluttering and warm; it made you feel giddy, instead of ravenous. Mando’s helmet tilted to you on the desk, and you smiled at him smally in recognition.

“I should go,” He let out, almost sadly. “I’m need to meet with Karga,”

You tried not to think about how _elated_ you felt at that fact he’d come to see _you_ before meeting with Karga. He’d landed on Nevarro, fresh from his bounties and ready for more work, and he’d come to you before all of that. Stars, it felt good.

“He’s _bad news_ ,” You said suddenly, copying his words from the week before. Mando only sighed once more, before forcing himself to stand and sling his satchel over his shoulder.

“I’d watch that smart mouth if I were you,” He threatened, but you only smirked at his response.

“Oh yeah?” You began. “What are you gonna do about it?” You let out playfully, not thinking anything serious about your choice of words.

Suddenly, Mando stormed towards you, getting in _close—_ he shoved his body between your legs as you sat atop the desk, hands gripping the backs of your knees to keep them secure around his sides. You were taken aback, looking up at him like a fucking rabbit in headlights, while one of his hands came to rest on your chin.

His thumb swiped back and forth over your bottom lip gently, all while you stayed _absolutely still._ Frozen, pulsing, a bit terrified, but mostly _turned the fuck on._

“I like your smart mouth,” He growled out. “But not when I have to _leave,”_

Stars, what the _fuck._ You were melting immediately once more, all too aware of the way his hips were pressing into you—you could feel him, you could feel the _throb._

You had no control over the way your cheeks fucking blushed. If you got any redder, you would have looked to be dowsed in fresh blood. You ignored the hammering of your heart, the heat radiating from your very body, while you tentatively raised a hand to his helmet.

You placed your hand on the cold, hard metal of the mask he never took off, somehow still being surprised about the feeling of the surface—hard, cold, smooth, _perfect._ As far as you were concerned, this was Mando’s face, this was what he looked like always.

As much as you wanted to delve beneath the armour, you were also a realist. You didn’t expect to ever see his face, as much as you ached to. You didn’t expect to ever kiss his lips, as much as you craved to. You didn’t expect the Mandalorian to unwind fully with anyone, let alone _you_ —

But beneath all of that, was hope.

“Stay then,” You said it before you could analyse the words in your brain. Mando didn’t remove himself from you, but you felt him tense up. “After Karga, stay here tonight,” You repeated.

You fully expected Mando to retract his grip from you, to leave without a word, but instead he got _closer_ to you. He pulled your legs around his waist, leaning himself down to lean his arms on your work desk, until his helmet was _all_ you saw. You wondered, if you squinted, would you see his eyes beneath?

“I can’t,” Mando said finally, before you felt him pulling away. You took your chance, though, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing your lips to his helmet. You kissed him where you expected his cheek to be, navigating the indents and curves in the Besker, before pulling back and sending him a saddened look.

“Be safe, then,” You gave up, allowing him to leave the safety of your legs, wrapped around his hips snuggly. He looked incredibly reluctant to leave, but nevertheless, he grabbed his satchel, slinging it over his shoulder like you’d seen him do a thousand times—

And he left.

You sat in silence for a while, while the darkness set in outside. You turned no lights on, opting to roam around your shop in almost pitch-black, just for the fucking hell of it. Stars—you’d been fucking _blue-balled_ , and so had he. Both times, you’d got close to getting there, but something always faltered before either of you had the chance.

Not that you thought that was a problem. If anything, it spurred you forward, increasing your fantasies surrounding the inevitable unwinding that you’d give him, or _more excitedly,_ he’d give you. You’d be lying if you didn’t think about it all the fucking time—the prospect of Mando making you cum had plagued you for the better part of three months, but now that this had happened, you were getting incredibly impatient.

As much as you wanted to go full throttle, neither of you could fucking take that right now. Not after so long without being touched, not after reacquainting yourselves with the feeling of sexual intimacy; and, possibly, _romance._

You were a hard-skinned woman. Making and repairing literal _killing machines_ was your job. You’d hurt, maimed, injured too many people to remember the exact amount, and you knew Mando’s numbers most definitely topped yours. Yet this feeling went beyond the want to be _railed_ by this man—

Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to _care_ for him, too. You wanted to know his past, you wanted to know about Mandalore, you wanted to know what the Beskar and the helmet meant to him— Stars, you wanted to know his _favourite colour._

You wanted him to stay. Even if he couldn’t fathom sleeping in your bed, even if the Beskar stayed on completely. You spent most of your days waiting for him to return to Nevarro and, just this once, you wished you could wake up to him.

_Kriffing hell. Get it together._

You were pulled from your thoughts when your foot slammed into a box of parts on the way to your bedroom. You fully deserved it, walking around in a pitch-black workshop like it was easy as pie. You grappled at air to find the doorway to your bedroom, almost catapulting yourself into your drawers, until you finally stumbled across your bed.

You got in, not bothering to strip, or wash your face, or brush your teeth—

You got in and hugged your damn pillow. All the while, listening for the familiar sound of your door being lockpicked, hoping that maybe it would be the Mandalorian.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally don't know how the fuck I'm churning this all out so fast. I wrote this entire chapter today and BITCH. I LOVE IT. Thanks for the support so far! This being my first ever smut fic is so daunting to me, but I'm starting to think I'm not as terrible as I predicted!
> 
> By the way-- I have a tumblr! @light-yaers. I post updates there about fics like no saints, and my other works! And it's just funny init. Ask me any questions you have over there, or if you just want to chat I'll be there!
> 
> lightyaers x

By the twelve-day mark, you started getting worried. You knew Mando could take care of himself, that was a given, but you couldn’t stop the anxiety as it shoved its way into your blood stream _permanently_ for three whole days.

Fifteen days and no sign of the Beskar clad hunter. Fifteen days seemed like an awfully long time for him to be gone—unless he was doing that _thing_ again—not coming by to visit you anymore.

You wanted to believe he wasn’t doing that. The last two times you’d been together, he’d made no indication of being uncomfortable, despite the _fool_ you can become under immense arousal and horniness, apparently. You just _had_ to ask him to stay, didn’t you?

You just _had_ to place a kiss upon his fucking helmet.

Stars—maybe he really had decided not to come back.

You busied yourself with work like usual, working through the thoughts and the worry and the fucking _stress_ of not knowing if he was okay. It was stupid; you knew what it meant to be a bounty hunter, you knew the struggle of racing after a quarry, of having to figure out the timeframe of your job, of calculating where to get your fuel from, your Bacta from, your upgrades from—

But still you found yourself feeling incredibly uneasy about the fact he hadn’t returned yet, despite the clear signs of it being a longer job, or a harsher client, or whatever else.

You stopped polishing the blaster you currently had, suddenly frowning at nothing. Your heart panged in your chest, your brow started to sweat, and _stars,_ you felt tears in your fucking eyes.

You didn’t often think about your past, too overcome with the memories of what had gone wrong. You were too young to have been doing what you were doing, but you did it to _survive._ When there was nothing else in this universe for you, it was the only option—

_It was all you knew._

It was just ironic that you ended up settling on Nevarro, another planet crawling with bounty hunters; none of which knew your name. That was something you _always_ kept to yourself. You chose not to even have an alias; they could get messy, _fast_. Besides, if anyone knew who you really were already, you wouldn’t be alive to even be worrying about the Mandalorian.

You would have been killed as soon as you stepped on the planet, as soon as someone realised who you were.

Mando and yourself had more in common than he’d ever know, and you didn’t plan on telling the hunter about your past—he was still a mystery, still unknown to you, and you didn’t know if he’d simply turn on you immediately after revealing your old alias to him.

You forced yourself to rub your eyes, angrily wiping away the stray tears that you’d allowed to fall down your cheeks. Stars, you knew you had _problems_ about thinking back. You knew your mind was plagued with those memories, you knew you could remember them _too vividly,_ that sometimes you got sucked into them again, in the body of your younger and more naïve self, tripping over rocks and fallen trees and avoiding blaster shots—

“Stop,” You said once, sternly. Your voice echoed throughout your empty shop, before dissipating in the air until there was nothing but white noise filling your ears. You were here, on Nevarro, polishing another fucking blaster and waiting for a glimpse of Beskar. You were here— _not_ there.

You sighed deeply, forcing yourself to stay present, to stay focused upon your work. You cleared up your desk as the sun began to set over Nevarro, casting your shop with an orange and yellow glow that felt pleasant against your bear arms. You took inventory, keeping the door of the shop open all the while you were packing up for the end of the workday. When you were done, you strode to the door, shutting it with a frowning smile as you realised it was another day without seeing Mando.

_Stars, if he’s dead, someone is going to_ pay.

You locked the door sadly, swivelling on your heels and thinking about getting the whiskey out again, when the most subtle of knocks tapped from the metal of the shop door. You were _immediately_ on edge. You rushed to your desk, grabbing your blaster, before you slowly tiptoed towards the door—

Your heart was in your throat, your limbs were frozen in fear, but you felt adrenaline course through your muscles right on time, spurring you forward to be totally on your guard. The knocks sounded again, louder this time, but you didn’t falter. You approached the door, holding the lock with one hand, before you quickly clicked it and swung the door open, aiming your weapon at light speed—

“You told me to knock after hours,” Mando stood in your doorway, arms and gun by his side. You’d guess he wasn’t even the slightest bit surprised at how you looked right now—defensive stance, gun pointed at his skull, breathing shallow and controlled.

This bastard breaks into your shop more than he’s _ever_ knocked. No wonder you were fucking scared.

You let out a stuttering sigh, dropping your weapon, but not quite being able to let go of the adrenaline spike that just slammed through your body.

“What happened to picking my lock?” You stuttered out, annoyed.

“It’s less fun when you expect me to do it,” He replied, and _stars,_ as much as you fucking loved it when he actually joked, _now_ wasn’t the time. You raised hands to your forehead, pushing your hair back and trying to calm yourself down. You were awash with a shaky feeling as your heart continued to try and crawl up your throat.

Mando took a tentative step forward as he saw you on edge, reaching out a hand to touch your arm, but stopping himself before he could. “Hey—,” He began, and you _exploded._

“ _Fifteen days,”_ You let out slowly, not even trying to cover up the wobble in your voice. You’d been worried sick, you were certain your hair was going to start falling out if he was gone much longer. “Fifteen _kriffing_ days, Mando—,”

“I know, I’m late,” He interrupted, taking a few steps towards you and into the shop. He turned slowly, shutting the door and clicking the lock. A sound you knew well, one that often made you excited, but right now only existed to make you _overthink to oblivion._

What if he never came back one day? What if he never came back and clicked that lock again like he always did?

You continued to try and calm yourself down, all too aware of Mando standing behind you. Stars, you wanted to _hug him_ —and that was the most idiotic thing you’d ever admitted to yourself. What the fuck had happened to you? How had this _bounty hunter_ reduced you to an ancient portrayal of a woman; waiting around for him to return, worrying about him when he was gone, _feeding him, for stars sake?_

“I need a favour,” He spoke up once more, and you scoffed immediately. Maybe it was from hurt, maybe it was from something else, and as much as you wanted to _laugh_ at this situation, all it did was boil your blood.

“Right,” You said firmly, finally turning to face him. You placed your hands on your hips, staring him down like a pig for slaughter.

“I need you as collateral,” Mando said awkwardly. “Karga was expecting me back four days ago. If you’re there, it may just stop him shooting me on behalf of the Guild,”

You froze in your spot. “You’re kidding,” You stated. Mando didn’t reply, he didn’t even move. “You’re _not_ kidding,” You added, bringing a hand to wipe down your face. _Fuck. This was just great._ “Why me?” You questioned, shooting him an almost scowl.

“He knows you. And Karga loves a pretty face that he can shove shots into, as bad as it sounds,” Mando said honestly. You would have been more pissed if he’d made it up, but it was the truth; Karga was as easy to manipulate with a woman as you were when Mando touched you in any sense. Like _butter._

You thought for a moment. As much as you wanted to vomit at the prospect of needing to _butter_ Karga up, you were also doing it to avoid Mando’s execution—

You could live with that. Stars, you could _definitely_ live with that.

But if Karga actually shot him, there was no telling what you’d do to that slimy Guild contact in return. You glanced at Mando, softening your expression. You could tell he felt uncomfortable— he didn’t want to put you in this situation, ever, but he almost had no choice. And stars, you weren’t about to let him go to his death.

“What’s the plan?” You said abruptly. Mando let out a pent-up breath. You heard it trickle from his modulator; relief, _thanks._

An hour later and the plan had been laid out. Mando would wait while you went to the bar first. You were wearing the most revealing outfit you owned, just as an added bonus. Your shoulders were bear, your trousers were flush against your skin and your blaster belt fit snuggly around your waist.

“I’m about to enter the bar,” You spoke to your wrist. Mando had insisted on giving you a communicator, just to know when he should rendezvous with you inside the bar. “Give me ten minutes before you come inside,”

“Ten minutes. Copy,” Mando said sternly. Your heart fluttered at his hunter voice—the tone he adopted when he was on missions, out in the galaxy by himself. “You... look good, by the way,”

You almost jumped at his words, as a blush appeared across your cheeks. Not that he could see it, though. He was safely back in the shop, instructed to lock up and bring the keys with him when he made his way to you and Karga.

“I’ll say a proper thank you to that when we both leave the bar _alive_ ,” You stuttered back, clenching your jaw painfully. Stars, now wasn’t the _time._ You muted the other end of the comms line, so noises on Mando’s end couldn’t be heard, before you entered the building.

You knew Karga was at his usual table. His cronies patrolled the booths around him, just waiting to see if any trouble broke out. You approached the droid at the bar, getting ready to order, when Karga spoke up from behind you—

“Back again so soon?” He said. You had to stop yourself from smiling as you turned round to face him. _Exactly to plan._ “Need a _change of scenery,_ again?” He added, shooting you a smile.

“Am I _that_ predictable?” You sent him one back, playing yourself up to be more of a sweet-hearted being than you were ever capable of actually being. Karga shot out that chesty cough laugh once more, before gesturing his hand to the booth seat opposite him.

You nodded sweetly, practicaly skipping over to sit opposite him.

“Is business any better since our last toast?” Karga began, clicking for glasses like he’d done before and revealing the same blue liquor bottle. You forced yourself to pout slightly.

“It’s been... okay,” You replied sadly. Karga took the bait, leaning in slightly closer to you.

“Oh, I don’t buy that,” He spoke softly. “Money troubles?” He questioned. You nodded sadly, forcing on a small, quivering smile when a droid came over and deposited the glasses on the table. Karga was looking at you the whole time, analysing your face, your body language—you knew he wasn’t an idiot, but he was so easily swayed when it came to women. It was every man’s weakness; _almost_ every man’s weakness.

He filled the glasses up one by one, pushing one over to your side of the table. You took in a sharp breath, raising your hand to the glass before he’d even taken his own fingers away. You let out a giggle, forcing down the sick feeling you had in your stomach at what the fuck you were actually doing.

“Oh—sorry,” You let out, pushing some stray hairs behind your ears and bringing the glass closer to your side of the table.

“It’s no trouble, dear,” Karga said in response. Stars, you wanted to hit yourself. Mando was _not_ getting off easy for this, the bastard. He raised his own glass, bringing it to the middle of the table. “To getting back on your feet,” He proposed. You sent him another puppy-eyed smile, clinking your glass with his and letting it _linger,_ just for a few moments longer than you needed to, before both of you downed your shots.

You made the fucking stupidest face imaginable, playing up the taste of the alcohol as it slinked down your throat once more. You let out a breath. “Is it just me or does it get _stronger_ with every shot?” You and Karga laughed together, as your desire to kick yourself only increased.

“It gets easier eventually,” Karga began. “When you’ve been sitting in the same bar, drinking the same liquor and dealing with the same hunters for as long as _I_ have, it becomes easy,”

You tried not to fucking _glow_ at his subject choice. It was perfect for what you needed to discuss with him.

“Stars, yes, your _job,_ ” You replied, acting more interested in him than you had ever been in the seven or so years you’d known the snake. “Tell me about it— _oo_ , who’s your favourite _hunter_?”

Karga smiled smally, but you could tell by the way his brow had furrowed that you were heading into unchartered territory. He was probably as secretive about his role in the same way you were about your name.

When he didn’t reply, you had to think on your feet. “Sorry, that was probably overstepping,” You let out sweetly. “It’s just... that guy, in all the _armour,_ what was his name—Mando?”

Karga perked up at your mention of him, softening his face back into something more animated and less thoughtful. “Mando, that’s him. Our resident Mandalorian,” Karga explained, going to refill both of your glasses.

“Stars, he’s _scary,”_ You trickled out. You could only imagine what Mando was like, hearing you say all of this while he listened intently on the other end of the communicator. You were never going to live this down, he was probably laughing his fucking Beskar covered ass off. It boiled your blood just thinking about it.

“Scary? No,” Karga scoffed. “He likes to think he is, but our Mando is more heartfelt than a lot of other hunters,” Karga grabbed his glass, raising it to the sky once more. “It’s a shame that he might be dead, but we’ll have to see,” You grabbed yours as well, clinking it with his once more and downing the shot quickly, almost forgetting to put on the dramatics.

“D-dead?” You stuttered out. Karga nodded grimly.

“In both senses, I suppose. He was due back almost five days ago, but he hasn’t arrived. Lateness is not usually tolerated in the Guild. So, he’s either dead, or he’s _as good as_ if he ever comes back,”

_Fuck. He wasn’t kidding._

You immediately put on your best pout. “But, that’s so _sad_. Isn’t he an excellent hunter?” You asked, and Karga immediately nodded, noticing the sadness washed all over your face. You saw him gulp slowly, like he felt _bad._

“One of the best, arguably. He’s always been so on the ball. I’d be curious to know what happened this time around, if he’s actually still alive,” You nodded severely, making this conversation out to be incredibly scarring to your poor, weak, womanly heart.

“I hope he’s not dead,” You spoke up. “He’s been good for the Guild, as you say. Probably gets you a lot of credit as his contact, right?” Karga was silent as he went about refilling the glasses for the third time. Stars, you may actually get a bit _drunk_ without meaning to. You hardly drank anymore, unless the situation arose. “I bet being a bounty hunter isn’t easy,” You added, prompting Karga to nod sullenly.

“It’s not an easy profession, not an easy _life,_ ” He replied, before perking up slightly and smiling at you widely. “But you don’t need to concern yourself with that, dear. You’re strong for making your home here, for doing what you do, even without hearing about the cut-throat world of bounty hunters and the Guild,”

You nodded in what you tried to get across as thanks, despite the strong urge to throw up. Karga pushed the full glass in your direction once more, and stars, you _didn’t want to drink it._ Nevertheless, you persisted. You picked up the glass slowly, giving Karga the sweetest eyes you had imaginable—but then Karga looked away from you, shooting his eyes to the door of the bar.

He slammed his glass back on the table as a mixture of happiness and something sinister crossed his face. “Well, _well_. Mando,” He said. You made a show of gasping, looking round behind you as he approached your table slowly.

“I... I better go,” You spoke quietly, rising up, but Karga stuck out a hand for you to stay sat.

“No, that’s okay, dear. Stay. This won’t take long,” You did as you were told, sitting back in the booth. To your surprise, Mando shoved himself into the booth next to you, until you were pressed up against the side of the seat to show you were fucking terrified.

_Terrified. That’s funny._

“Let’s make this quick, Mando. You’re scaring my guest,” Karga added. You made a show of facing forward and being utterly frozen while Mando tilted his helmet in your direction. You had a feeling he was trying not to laugh, and honestly you didn’t blame him. You looked fucking ridiculous.

Mando let out a sigh. “It was an ambush, Karga. I had to hide for two days before getting back on track,”

Karga nodded, but you had a horrible feeling in your gut. He clicked his fingers once and all of a sudden, the table was surrounded by his cronies, all pointing their guns at Mando. He raised his hands slowly in surrender, but you _fucking lost it—_

“No— _wait!_ Please—,” You stood with your hands out, slightly covering Mando and putting on the shakes like you were an A class actress from Naboo, showcasing her _absolute_ stardom. You looked to Karga, willing tears to pool in your eyes. “Please—there’s so much _death_. I know it’s not my place, and _tell_ me to be quiet if I haven’t already overstepped every line, but Karga... _please_ don’t kill this man,” You pleaded with him, using all of your strength. “There’s just... so much death,” You let out a shaky breath, descending back to your seat and pushing yourself away from Mando once more.

You allowed two tears to trickle from your eyes, wiping them away in silence, but noticeably so. You prayed this was enough—a crying woman, a shaking body—for him to listen, or at least _try_ to appeal to what you wanted.

Honestly, you were simply trying not to think about the true way you felt, and how it almost matched up with your acting displays right there. The tears, sure, it was a tad overkill for you, but just the thought of Mando being killed in this way was enough to activate your fight or flight—and evidently, _fight_ always came out on top.

“You owe me, Mando,” Karga finally let out, raising his hand to pull away his cronies. They retracted their guns, stepping back once more. “You get three pucks this week, instead of four. And you get half your pay. If you’re late again, I won’t be as kind,” He stated, and Mando nodded once. Karga dropped the pucks on the table, along with half of his pay. Mando picked everything up, placing it in his satchel.

“Loud and clear,” Mando replied sternly, but you could hear the triumph in his voice. He stood from the booth, and you finally let out a breath.

“Karga, I should go, too. Before I cause _anymore_ disruption,” You spoke tentatively, keeping up the act despite it making your gut physically hurt. Karga regarded you kindly, before shooting a stern look at the Mandalorian.

“You owe this woman your life, Mando,” He was blunt. “Walk her out,”

You stood shakily, making your way out of the booth, when you fully tripped up— your foot snagged on the underside of the booth, causing you to topple forward right towards Mando—

He reacted immediately, catching you as you almost fell straight to the floor. Karga let out a small chuckle at the unfolding scene, and as much as you were ready to _throw hands_ , you kept the act up for a few moments longer.

Mando got you back upright, popping you down to stand next to him, before he turned on his heels and immediately went to leave the bar. You shuffled on the spot, nodding at Karga one last time before you scuttled away to catch up with Mando.

When you both left the bar, the _anger_ rose to your surface immediately. You strode off, faster than Mando, heading back to the shop as you disgustingly wiped your hands on your trousers to get any sense of Karga off of you. You muttered to yourself, absolutely seething, all the way back to the inner city.

When you reached the shop, you turned to Mando, a few paces behind you. “Keys,” You demanded. He threw them at you without any hesitation and you caught them swiftly, unlocking your front door and storming inside. God—you were _exhausted._

You stormed round to your work desk, grabbing the bottle of whiskey beneath the counter and pulling the cork off aggressively. You downed a large gulp of the liquid, grimacing as it travelled down your throat and settled in your stomach.

Stars— you couldn’t _believe_ you’d actually done that _willingly_. Your skin felt dirty, remembering the way you’d spoken and the expressions you’d given the old Guild contact made you fucking shiver.

Mando entered the shop, shutting the door behind him, but not locking it this time.

You immediately turned to him, red in the face. “Why didn’t you lock it?” You said, annoyance utterly present in your voice.

Mando stood awkwardly before you. “I... didn’t know if you wanted me to stay or not, this time,”

_Fucks sake_. This man, after all he’d asked you to do, was still somehow making you _feel_ something. He was so soft, so awkward, stood right before you. He’d known putting you through that was horrible, he’d given you the opportunity to _refuse_ his company.

But stars, you’d just done all of that for him. You didn’t want him to leave, not one bit, _never_.

You scoffed from a lack of what else to do, too afraid you’d utterly embarrass yourself more by making it clear that, honestly, you’d probably go through all of that shit again just so he didn’t die.

“You’re _insufferable_ sometimes, Mando,” You whispered, knowing that your words sounded harsh. You softened your expression, slamming down the whiskey on your desk. “But not as insufferable as Karga— or these _kriffing_ trousers,”

You suddenly were all too aware of how your waist was being sucked in painfully. You stuck your hands in the waistband, pulling them in an attempt to stretch them out. You took of your blaster belt, letting it drop to the floor as you continued to struggle.

And those _chuckles_ — those _goddamn modulated chuckles_ filled the room. You glared at Mando, watching the way his shoulders were bobbing up and down subtly, the way his helmet was tilted away from you in an attempt to conceal his laughter.

“You think this is _funny_?” You raised your brows, widened your eyes. As much as you wanted to yell at him, you couldn’t stop the corners of your mouth upturning into a smile. It was uncontrollable.

“No,” Mando said breathily. The bastard was blatantly lying. But—it was _hot._ And that was the most annoying thing of all.

You steamed towards him, going to give his Beskar chest another smack, until you remembered the pain it had caused two weeks ago. You stopped your balled fist in front of his chest abruptly, and he stopped, turning to face you. A gloved hand wrapped tightly around your wrist, the other one fitting snuggly on your waist.

_Alright. He’s used to this now. Good._

“Remember what Karga said, Mando— you owe me _your life,_ ” You shot him an amused smile, but his grip didn’t falter on you. Instead, he pulled you in closer, helmet staring down at you unwaveringly.

“Then let me help,” His voice had changed in a matter of seconds from playful, to _hungry._ The tone slid over your body, forcing you to simply accept his grasp and melt into his embrace. That’s when you gasped—as he knelt to the floor slowly, until you heard the unmistakable sound of his Beskar knee pads making contact with the metal ground.

You didn’t know what the fuck to do—place your hands on his _helmet?_ Place them in your pockets? You had no idea what he was doing, or what he was _going_ to do, but either way, your senses were dialled to a hundred in a matter of milliseconds.

You dared to look down at him, and the sight that beheld you was one that made you cease to breathe; Mando was _taking off his gloves._ Slowly, gently, finger by finger releasing the leather from around his hands, until he pulled them both off and dropped them to the floor without a care.

The breath caught in your throat the moment his fingers found your waistband. Your cheeks blossomed a neon pink and adrenaline began to pump into every crevice of your body, making you _feel_ everything, every graze, every poke, the heavenly feeling of his fingers finally touching your bear skin.

You took a moment to look at his hands, finally, with nothing to cover them from your eyes. His skin was tan, worn. His finger pads were calloused and rough, scratching at your skin softly like sandpaper, but the sensation was already making your legs wobbly.

Stars, you had to stop yourself from moaning when you felt his fingers reach the buckle on your trousers. He was taking his time, finding his own way around this part of your body that he’d never experienced before, and _fuck—you loved it._ He heard you, despite his laughter, he _heard_ you complaining about those godforsaken trousers and how they were literally cutting off your blood circulation—

And he was fixing it, and _sexily,_ which was just a massive fucking bonus.

“Is this okay?” He asked quietly. All you could do was nod in response, not being able to find any words to fit the bill. Then, he stopped _completely,_ you groaned as he retracted his hands, having to steady yourself by leaning on his shoulders. You looked down at him, utterly broken, wondering why the hell he’d stopped. “Tell me. Is this okay?” He demanded once more, but with more ferocity. You exhaled shakily, peering into his visor.

“Yes,” You said quickly. “Yes— _stars_ , yes,” The words tumbled from your lips involuntarily, existing only to make Mando _latch_ himself back onto you, fingers travelling up and underneath your shirt with one hand, while the other continued to work on your trousers.

You were in ecstasy, feeling nothing but _him,_ and his _warmth—_ a warmth that was usually taken up by the coldness of his Beskar, but stars, you _loved his hands more._ The feel of his fingertips, all too aware that he was close to unbuckling your trousers—

And _then_ what? The slow and utterly painful suffering of him peeling them off of you, stopping every so often to place his hands around your bear thighs, or, god forbid, he moved _up_ , finally giving in and making you utterly unwind from the pulsing spot between your legs.

You could almost cry just _imagining it,_ so you had no idea how you’d cope if he actually did all of that—but there was no time to prepare, not after the buckle on your trousers finally opened. Mando unzipped you the rest of the way, being careful not to snag the fabric of your underwear in the metal zip. That’s when his hands reached for your waist, slowly beginning to pull down the suffocating garment.

You had to dig your fingers into his shoulders, otherwise you were going to _scream._ His hands travelled down your waist, your hips, reaching your upper thighs agonisingly slowly. Your pussy was right in front of him, and stars, you prayed he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off of you.

Mando continued his slow descent, taking his time just like you’d expected. His fingers roamed all over, wanting to touch and feel and _know_ every portion of your bear skin that he possibly could. You stifled a whimper, but it only spurred him on—

When he reached your knees, you heard him growl beneath his helmet, and suddenly—he _ripped_ the trousers down to your ankles, causing all of the air in your lungs to disappear as you moaned out freely. Before you had time to lean on him, he was _lifting you up_ , wrapping your legs around his hips as he brought you to the work desk and placed you atop the surface.

“ _Mando_ — I—,” You started, but his bear finger trickled up to your lips. Where a leather covered thumb would normally be, it was now replaced with his bear thumb, swiping back and forth over your bottom lip and making your gut coil with arousal. _Fuck—you were putty in his hands._

“Not finished yet,” He growled out, almost threateningly. It made you _squirm,_ as your gut continued to scream within you. He dragged his fingers down your legs, allowing his nails to scratch you all the way down, until he reached your ankles. One by one, he pulled the fabric off of you, opting to throw the trousers behind him after they were completely off.

You stared at him, not stopping to think about what you looked like. He was up close, he could see the arousing droop of your eyelids, the way your mouth was permanently dropped open as a shaky flow of air flooded in and out of your aching lungs, the blotches of red blush that speckled your cheeks, like freckles that only appeared when he was this close to you.

He gripped you with a ferocity that you fucking _craved_. His fingers felt every bump, every scar, every dimple that your thighs had to offer, as he pushed himself further between your hips suddenly. You yelped out in pleasure, having no other option but to wrap your arms around his shoulders and _push him closer—_

Closer to your sweet spot, your poor and utterly aching pussy that had been _waiting_ for a moment like this for a collection of agonising months.

“What’s your name?” He whispered through the modulator. You _froze up_ immediately, as your heart catapulted into your throat. You didn’t move, you didn’t speak, maybe you _didn’t breathe_ for a few moments, until you realised you were running out air, spluttering out a shaking breath.

Mando slowly peeled you from your grip around his shoulders, but he kept you close—he just wanted to see your face, to see your eyes and the expression you held; one of utter surprise—

One of utter _terror._

“I’m—sorry,” He stuttered out, upon seeing the fear washed all over your face. “I let my curiosity get the better of me,”

Stars, you were an _odd_ pairing, weren’t you? A man with no face and a woman with no name, with their limbs wrapped around each other and holding on for dear life, taking in every shudder and moan and growl and _feeling._

“It’s okay,” You finally spoke, albeit in a coarse whisper, having lost your voice amongst all of the events. You allowed yourself to smile at him sadly. “I—I’m _scared_ ,” You let out involuntarily, just from the simple look of his fucking _helmet._ God, you’d spill everything to that helmet if you could—

You’d spill your past, you’d spill your present, you’d spill just how much you wanted him to fuck you.

“You don’t have to,” Mando replied, bringing a hand to your face slowly. You shuddered, shutting your eyes as he placed his palm against your cheek. _His_ hand, his actual hand, laying upon your face for the first time. Your stomach swelled with a warmth you could no longer control.

“I want you to know my name,” You admitted, keeping your eyes closed. Mando was slow and gentle, as his fingers roamed the entirety of your face. They fluttered across your forehead, swiped down the bridge of your nose and trickled over your lips, working their way back up around your cheeks and repeating the pattern all over again.

Stars, this was it. You were about to tell him your name, your _actual_ name, not your old alias. No one in the galaxy, besides your very long-gone family, knew your birth name. It was sacred to you, and you held onto it for dear life. But _this—_

You were trying to rationalise your decision. You wanted him to know it, you wanted him to _call you_ it, whether that was like this, close and sweating and fucking hot, or slumped in your usual chairs, laughing about useless bullshit. You wanted him to yell it, as you gave him pleasure or opened yourself up to him completely—

You felt him _tense,_ stopping the usual pattern of his fingers over your face—because, stars, you’d just _blurted it out_ , right then and there, while you were still _thinking_ about whether to say it or not—your name. He knew your name.

You’d just pulled the trigger, sent the bullet flying and fucking shot yourself in the foot by mistake.

You fluttered your eyes open, taking in the unwavering gaze of his chrome visor and noticing that, despite his tension, his hand was still on your cheek warmly. His hips were still placed within yours, one of his arms still holding your legs tightly around him.

But _fuck—that’s when he said it back to you._

As clear as day in his modulated drawl, sounding out the letters and letting it trickle from beneath his helmet into your ears. Honestly—you could have cum right there. You felt your entire body shudder as the sound of him saying your own name floated over, fucking _destroying_ any sense of composure that you had left.

It only made him grip onto you tighter. “I like it,” He added, after noticing the wreckage he’d done to you, just by saying a simple name. 

Your eyelids drooped even further, as a sudden and inconsolable exhaustion flooded over you. “I like it when you say it,” You let out, not fully knowing what the hell you’d just admitted to him. Mando seemed to like it either way, as he flicked his fingertips over the side of your jaw, placing a few strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Now, I’m finished,” He said, as he slowly began to retract himself from you. You were ashamed of yourself as soon as you heard the _whine_ that left your lips. It was somewhere between a _no_ and a _please stay,_ but you couldn’t understand which came through more.

Mando let out a soft chuckle, before he slipped his arm underneath your knees, the other coming up to grab you beneath your shoulder and wrap around your back. He carried you, _bridal style,_ to your bedroom, popping you down on your bed before you could protest.

When he stood, you grabbed onto the closest thing of his—his hand. Your fingers held his own, feeling the groves of his prints and the roughness of his calloused skin; but you loved them. God, you loved them. You weren’t going to get over his hands anytime soon.

“Mando,” You spoke up, causing his gaze to move from your hand to your face. “Thanks for the help,” You finished, before unapologetically curling yourself into a ball and basically _immediately,_ falling asleep.

“You’re welcome,” He whispered out, but you weren’t in any position to hear him properly.

That meant you didn’t hear him say your name once more, rolling it over his tongue slowly, before leaving you to your dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to repeat— I have a tumblr! @light-yaers. My uploads are going to definitely slow down now, so if you want to keep up to date with “no saints” or just to have a chat, then I’ll be over there! Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEW TAGS ADDED: PTSD AND PAST TRAUMA. Please be cautious if these things trigger you, friends. 
> 
> Okay so, it doesn't say slow burn for nothing. This chapter is purely FLUFF. With some implied spiciness for later on. Also, there's a surprise for you all at the end. Wonder who it could be? Thanks so much for the constant support on this fic!
> 
> Like always, I'll be posting updates for this baby on my tumblr, @light-yaers! Hop on over if you want, say hi! I'd love to speak to some of you if you ever wanted to chat. 
> 
> lightyaers x

“You’re angry,” Mando said plainly. He stood in the shop, door closed and obviously locked, a week later. You stood behind your work desk, glaring up at his chrome visor and saying absolutely nothing.

You pointed to the collection of credits on the desktop. Mando followed your finger, seeing what the supposed problem was.

“You’re angry because I gave you my last pay?” He questioned, stepping closer to you at the desk.

“I said I don’t want your credits,” You told him bluntly. “Your money is _your money—,”_

“That was before you saved my life,” He interrupted, coming to lean down on the desk opposite you. You inhaled deeply, feeling a subtle rush of excitement in your gut at his closeness, despite the scolding you wanted to give him.

“I don’t _want_ your money, Mando,” You stated, staring straight into his visor. “It’s not fair,”

“It is fair,” He retorted. “I haven’t needed information for a while. You’ve given me whiskey, bread, company—,”

“I don’t do that because I want to be _paid,_ Mando!” You erupted. Stars, was this your first fight? God forbid.

He stepped back subtly, almost as if he was trying to figure out your emotions. You could imagine the furrowed brow beneath his helmet, the look of confusion and trying to understand what you fully meant.

“Then hear this,” He began. You heard the tone of his voice as he became sterner, as he’d figured out his words for definite. “If you go bankrupt, what happens then?”

You couldn’t help it, you had to roll your eyes at him. “That’s _not_ your responsibility—,”

He interrupted you with a muffled groan, but instead of a seething anger, you felt... butterflies. When before it had simply been you admitting to your silly wants or desires, he’d finally cracked—he’d finally admitted that something was affecting him. “Without you on this planet, what will I do each time I return?”

You stood up slowly, involuntarily dropping your mouth open from this fucking _realisation._ Was Mando giving you credits to keep you in business? So he’d still have you to _return to_ between jobs?

You couldn’t help it. All of your anger dissipated into thin air, replaced by the intense longing to fucking hug him, or laugh in his face about being the vulnerable one this time, or take off his helmet with your eyes closed and kiss his actual lips.

None of which you _actually_ did—

Well, apart from the _laughter_. Soft chuckles escaped your lips, making Mando step back even further. It wasn’t often you were the one laughing at him, but this time was different.

“What?” He let out. You could hear the rising anger in his tone, but you couldn’t stop yourself from chortling. “ _What?_ ” He repeated, stepping forward to approach you at the desk. You looked up into his visor, cheeks a soft shade of pink, smile shoved all over your face.

You allowed yourself a few seconds to breathe, to calm down, before you finally cleared your throat, getting in _close_ to his visor. “You _like_ me,” You whispered, followed by cascades of laughter once more. You had to grip onto the desk for support, otherwise you were sure you’d drop to the floor, clutching your stomach as your abs started to hurt.

Mando didn’t move, he only _looked_ at you—stars, he was _good_ at looking at you. Stare unwavering, body unmoving, but eyes racing behind his visor as he fought to soak up the entire image of you in front of him.

He let you have your fun, laughing solely at his expense, or maybe just to stop yourself from body slamming him to the floor in a fit of absolute arousal. When you’d slowed to subtle hiccups of laughter, he reached out, grabbing your neck and pulling your face closer to his helmet—

Stars, you ceased to breathe. You flicked your gaze over his visor, from left to right and back again, hoping that maybe you were hitting his eyes beneath. _Fuck, what you’d do to see those eyes._ You craved to know the colour, the warmth, the looks that Mando actually sent you. You wanted to see him clamp them shut with absolute pleasure, you wanted to see them crinkle when he laughed.

“Annoying,” Was all he said, but you didn’t feel hurt from it. You knew he was fucking deflecting—because _you_ did that often. You settled on sending him a slight smirk in return, but all levels of composure went _out of the window_ —when your name trickled from his lips—

Your _name_. The one you’d blurted out last week, before he’d fucking put you to bed. You went to move back immediately, but Mando’s grip on your neck only increased. He brought his other hand to settle on the other side, keeping you stuck right in front of him.

“There it is,” He whispered, letting out a few amused modulated breaths. “That blush,”

Stars—you wanted to simultaneously _kill him_ and _snog him._

“That blush makes your annoyance tolerable,” You raised your brows suddenly as your gut coiled uncontrollably. His voice was nothing more than a low growl, disguising itself as subtle anger; but you _knew_ the difference. You’d heard Mando be angry, you’d heard him be soft and gentle, but you’d also heard him when he was fucking gagging for it—gagging to put his hands on your body, gagging to have you wrapped in his embrace.

“Does it, now?” You trickled out, the rising feeling of warmth fluttering through your body. It started in your stomach and spiralled outwards, hitting your chest, your arms, your shoulders and your _pussy._ When it hit that, your brain all but shut down, replaced with only the _need_ —the need to hear him moan again. “What _else_ makes it tolerable?”

Mando immediately started shaking it head. “ _No_. I have to meet with Karga,”

You pouted at him, sticking out your lower lip and sending him a sad frown. You started sniffling overdramatically, wondering if this blatant fake act would actually _work_ on him. He only shook his head again, faster this time, as if he was trying to convince _himself_ not to go there. “Karga may have fallen for it, but I won’t,”

Your face dropped into an actual frown as you sighed. Mando removed his grip from your neck, picking up his satchel and slinging it over his shoulder like always. You walked round from behind your desk, trying not to get sad about how short his visit had been this week—he was a busy man, especially after the lateness of last week. He was probably trying to build up trust with Karga again.

You stood in front of him as he stared down at you, small frown still on your lips and the blush still plastered on your cheeks. “Short visit,” He stated, but it made you smile slightly. At least you weren’t the only one thinking it. “Do you still have that communicator I gave you?”

Stars, if you’d been blushing before, you were fucking _red_ now. Your hand instinctively went to your wrist, where the comm had been since he’d put it on you last week. You hadn’t taken it off. _Fuck. This is embarrassing._

Mando noticed your awkwardness, looking down to your hands and seeing that you still had it. For once, he didn’t let out a chuckle, but you figured it was as a kindness to your tomato face. “Good. Keep it,” He demanded softly. “It means I can talk to you as soon as I land,”

You tried not to let out a squeal. Mando hadn’t just admitted to wanting to keep you on Nevarro, for _his sake,_ he’d also just made it incredibly clear that he, maybe, _missed you_. Missed you enough while he was off collecting quarries to want to speak to you as soon as he landed on Nevarro once again.

This _man_ —this man of steel and metal and cold, of violence, who could definitely snap you in half in the blink of an eye, was one of the most gentle and kind beings you’d ever come across. The Mandalorian.

Maybe that _wasn’t_ saying much, considering the people you’d been surrounded with for your entire life; but you _felt_ the good in him. You felt his kindness, his warmth, his _want_ to be there for you, next to you, with you. _Fuck—don’t fall for him completely. Don’t you fucking dare._

If only he’d _fuck_ you soon. That would be the cherry on of everything.

But there was something so quenching and satisfying about the build-up—the tension, the stares, the wonder of what part of your body he’d touch this time round, of which part of himself he’d reveal to you next. _Stars, you loved it._

Mando nodded at you once, going to leave the shop, but you stepped forward abruptly.

“I’ll... see you next week?” You let it out in a rush, afraid that he’d dip through the door too fast for you to say a goodbye. No—it wasn’t a goodbye. It was a “see you later”.

Mando strolled back to you slowly, silently, as every step hit you like a brick. He let out a sigh, or a moan, or a _whatever—_ it sounded half-way between pained and lost for words. Before you could figure out its meaning, he wrapped two Beskar clad arms around your shoulders, bringing a gloved hand to the back of your head and pushing you forward to rest upon his chest.

You gasped at his initial touch, not yet being used to this intimacy with him. Stars, you’d wrapped your _legs_ around him before you’d wrapped your _arms_ around him? It was enough to make you laugh, but all you felt in that moment was a softness that almost made you cry. It was an embrace that you hadn’t felt in years; a _simple_ hug.

You’d forgotten all that could be fixed with one simple gesture of arms wrapped around your body. You’d forgotten the feeling of a chest rising and falling, of hearing a subtle heartbeat as your ear rested right over it. Mando’s was no different—it was a soft _badum_ , over and over again beneath his Beskar.

You closed your eyes, guiltily realising that you _didn’t_ want to let go, not anytime soon. But that time was cut exceptionally short, when Mando pulled himself away first. He gently peeled you from his body, extending you to be an arms-length away before dropping his arms.

“See you next week,” He said lowly. And then he was really gone, gently shutting your door from outside and leaving you to stand in the Mando-less silence of your shop.

_Stars. This fucking sucks._

The more time you spent with the Mandalorian, the less you wanted him to leave. With every passing, it was becoming more of a battle on your emotions. _Get it together._ You berated yourself incessantly, telling yourself to get over it, to keep going forward, but with the passing time without him, you realised—

You were thinking more and more about your past.

And that was something that you _never_ liked to do.

Despite the years, the change of perspective, the countless hours of repression and years of work to get yourself away from it, it was becoming impossible. You saw flashes while you worked, when you shot in the firing range, before you slept. It _haunted_ you, seeping into your bones, as if you’d never fucking left it all behind.

Debilitating was a whole different ballpark, but this _was_ debilitating. When you looked in the mirror, you couldn’t differentiate between your older and younger self anymore—behind your eyes, you still saw her; cut-throat, unremorseful, naïve.

What you always seemed to forget were your morals; you’d never _wanted_ to do what you’d done. You’d never wanted to become what they made you, but it was all you knew, all you had, until you’d managed to get yourself out of there.

Maybe you’d picked Nevarro to settle as eternal punishment for your actions. Maybe you’d picked it because the danger, the griminess, the dirt and blood reminded you of the only home you could remember as a child.

You stifled a gasp as you dragged your hand down to your boot, sticking your fingers under the leather to feel the jagged, scarred skin on your right ankle—the mark they’d given you. The mark of your abilities, your absence of mercy, your _creed._

Only when you got older did you realise it was never a creed—it was a cult, a gang—and you’d simply been one of many children trafficked to work for their ranks. If you hadn’t grown such a tough skin, you would have died alongside the ones that didn’t make it. So, you grew, you trained until you couldn’t stand, until your stomach ejected its contents, until the agony of the hits you were taking turned to a numbness that you’d learned to expect and persist through.

_Fuck. Stop thinking about it. Stop._

You endured. You continued your work, you refused smiles from customers and repaired blaster after blaster, sometimes stopping to stare at the communicator on your wrist that only served as a reminder that he was gone. _Stars, don’t get soft now._

It was a week later when his voice rang through the band on your arm. He said your name, and dank farrik, you freaked the fuck out. You shot out of bed, half asleep, afraid that _they’d_ found you—that they’d scoured the universe to find you, to capture you, to torture you for your desertion—

You flailed wildly, picking up your blaster as a reflex and squinting into the darkness of your room. You were alone. “Did I wake you?” His modulated drawl spoke up again. _Fuck—it’s just Mando._ You clutched your heart painfully, feeling the rapid pulse of its beat throbbing throughout your entire body.

“No,” You replied breathily, trying to calm yourself down. “Where are you?”

Mando groaned on the other end of the line, but it wasn’t a noise of his that you’d ever heard before. It wasn’t strained from arousal, it wasn’t the hungriness you knew he could possess, it was _pain._ “Outside the city,” He replied, only confirming that something had happened.

“What’s wrong?” You bleated through the comms. “Are you hurt?”

Mando chuckled once, before letting out a colossal groan in agony. Now, you were _panicking._ It’s not that you thought he was indestructible, but he’d never wavered with his strength, and with all that armour you’d never know _how_ someone could actually strike him where it hurt.

“Do you have any Bacta shots?” He asked, groaning even more. You clambered up immediately, going to check your first aid supplies. You shuffled through them all, throwing gauze and bandaids and surgical tape behind you before letting out a frustrated huff.

“No, I—I don’t have any,” You stuttered, still overcome with the adrenaline you woke up to.

“Sewing kit?” He persisted. You nodded quickly to yourself, before you realised he couldn’t fucking see you.

“Yes, I have one,” You shuffled through the cupboards beneath your work desk quickly, finding the small sewing kit that you rarely used. Weapon repairs didn’t use _thread._

“Can you—,” He groaned between words. “Bring it— to the Razor Crest?”

You were already slipping on your sweats and a light jacket, nodding to yourself feverishly, before you managed to stutter out a response. “I’m on the way—be there soon—,”

“Be careful,” Mando forced out. “Sending you my coordinates,”

You followed his coordinates to the outside of the city. You’d never walked around Nevarro after dark much and for absolute good reason. It was grimy and mysterious, with dark alleys and even darker individuals. You had a constant grip on the blaster clipped to your waist as an understandable precaution, grasping it all the way to the outer sections of the city.

When you saw his ship in the distance, you broke into a run. You pumped your arms like you had no other agenda, embracing the adrenaline coursing through your blood and using it to your advantage.

“I’m outside your ship,” You breathed down the comms. His answer was opening up the hatch of the Razor Crest. You jumped in before it reached the floor, looking on the walls to close it right back up again. You stamped the controls and the ramp began to close once more, but you weren’t interested in it—

You were interested in the mound of Beskar on the floor that you recognised as Mando’s chest, shoulder and arm plates. You scanned the darkness of his ship, catching your eye on the subtle light reflection of his chrome helmet.

You rushed forward to see him crumpled on a rickety medical bed, slumped and breathing harshly. “ _Fuck_ —Mando,” You let out, approaching him quickly. You placed your hands on his armour-less forearms, but it only made him flinch in pain.

“ _S’okay_ , just a stab wound,” He whispered out coarsely.

_It’s_ okay _? This fucking idiot._

You looked at him in a panic, knowing that he most certainly _wasn’t_ okay. He was putting on a front, maybe for your sake, or for his. You could tell he was worried; otherwise he wouldn’t have contacted you to meet him on his ship.

“Did you—bring the kit?” He stuttered out. You fumbled with the kit, pulling it from the pocket of your jacket. He only nodded, lying back onto the bed in flinches and staggered movements until only his legs dangled off the end, the rest of him laid down. “Stitches. Needs stitches,”

You stood up straight immediately, spotting a storage box by the cockpit ladder and grabbing it swiftly. You dropped it by the side of the bed, slamming yourself down on top of it and ignoring the shake in your fingers as you flicked your eyes over his body.

He’d taken off all of the Beskar on his chest, leaving on the leg armour. His undershirt was black and thick, but even that didn’t stop you from seeing the unmistakable slick of blood, gushing from beneath a spot on his stomach. Tentatively, you curled your fingers beneath the shirt, pulling it up his chest slowly, exposing the wound—

_Stars, it was deep._

It was deep and gushing with red, as every breath Mando took only accelerated his blood loss. You were surprised he hadn’t passed out from the loss yet, let alone still been able to talk and just about move.

“Stars, Mando—I—,” You stuttered out, clutching the sewing kit in your fingers and wondering _what the fuck_ you were meant to do. You weren’t a seamstress, and fuck, you’d never given anyone _stitches_ before.

“I trust you,” The words trickled from beneath his helmet. You only indulged in his confession for a second, before tearing open the sewing kit. You spotted Mando’s first aid kit on the floor by the bed, taking a bundle of gauze and wipes as you fought to stop yourself from shaking.

You wiped down his wound, clenching your jaw as you saw the agonising way he tensed his entire body as you cleaned his flesh, ridding it of all of the blood you could. You picked up a needle then, choosing the biggest and most curved of the bunch, and threading it through with the strongest stuff in the pack. You had no idea if this would hold, but it would have to do until he started to heal, or until he could find a Bacta shot on Nevarro.

“I’m sorry,” You breathed out. “It’s going to hurt, Mando,”

He fucking _laughed,_ spluttering out an agonising groan afterwards. You wanted to kick him, to shout at him to _stop fucking doing that._ “I know. Just do it,” He let out. You could tell it was through clenched teeth. He was preparing himself for immense pain.

With every groan he let out, you wanted to _cry_. With every stab of the needle next to the wound, you were sure he was going to slap you; you wouldn’t have blamed him, honestly. You saw the way his entire body was shaking, was going into shock slowly and agonisingly. Yet he stayed awake. You saw the subtle twitch of his fingers with every pull of the thread, with every pent-up breath you let out after another successful stitch was added to the wound.

You alternated with wiping the wound of excess blood and pushing the needle through his skin, making sure to keep it as clean as fucking possible with what you had. God forbid, infection set in afterwards. He would have been better off without you in that sense.

You were sweating profusely by the time you pulled the last stitch through, sealing up the wound as tightly as you could against his painful moans.

“Okay— _okay,_ almost done. Hold on, Mando,” You didn’t let yourself celebrate just yet. You dropped the bloody needle and thread to the floor, picking up the roll of gauze. Stars—you needed him to _sit up_ for you to wrap it around his torso.

Mando knew what you needed before you’d ever said it, as he tilted his helmet in your direction. Stars, you didn’t want him to see you _like this._ Sweating, on the brink of fucking tears, his blood beneath your fingernails.

“Up?” He let out, but you heard the regained strength in his voice. You nodded at him morbidly, but nevertheless, he _did it._ It was a fucking struggle; you had to give him your arm and stars, he was fucking _strong._ He gripped onto your arm and bit through the agony as he hoisted himself up to a sitting position. You didn’t take your eyes off the wound, too afraid that it would suddenly burst, but it held.

His shirt fluttered down his torso, covering the wound when he’d finally made it to sitting. There was no way in hell he’d be able to hold it up himself, not with the core strength it would take him to do it in his exhausted state.

You placed the gauze between his legs, curling your fingers beneath his shirt once more. “I need to take it off,” You gulped. If this was any other occasion, you’d be blushing. Seeing Mando’s hands was one thing, but seeing his _chest_ , the gleam of his sweat, the tan of his skin and the subtle scarring from past battles—you wanted to place your hands all over it.

_Fucking hell. He’s_ wounded. _Stop it._

Mando obeyed, helping you slightly to lift the shirt over his helmet. You would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so tense; it got caught over his visor, leaving you with the image of him with his shirt stuck over his head, arms up and chest bare. God—it was _sort of_ funny. You’d definitely laugh about it later, if he didn’t fucking pass out before you were done patching him up.

“This is _not_ —,” He groaned. “How I imagined being—half-naked— in front of you,” The softness of his voice, despite the fucking pain, the agony, the panic that he obviously felt, filled you with a warmth that steadied you for the first time since entering his ship.

He was trying to make you _feel better._ Trying to calm you down, despite him being the one who should be worrying immensely. You ignored the tiny amount of blush that you felt on your cheeks, picking up the gauze and placing it over his wound gently.

You wrapped it around him several times, having to stand up and over him to wrap it behind him. You wrapped it around him four times, before you felt his fingers find your waist. You gasped slightly, but didn’t stop coiling gauze around him up. Only when his head dropped onto your chest did you stop—

You looked down at him, gauze still in your hands, just to _savour_ this image. You were stood in front of him, while he sat beneath you, utterly encased in the protection of your body. His fingers were gripped onto your jacket tightly, feeling the fabric between his fingers and allowing his thumbs to gently fumble around your waist. His head on your chest was new altogether—the helmet was heavier than you’d ever thought it would be, and _stars,_ you had to stop yourself from imagining his face beneath—

Eyes closed, mouth ajar as he took in gentle, calming breaths, feeling the comfort that the sound of your heartbeat offered him beneath your ribs.

You smiled to yourself, ignoring the pooled sweat that sat atop your cheeks and above your brow. Wrapping the gauze around him once more, you tucked the end back in and tied it securely, testing to see if it would budge easily. You were satisfied.

“Done,” You spoke, letting all of your panic flood away with that single word, before you slumped yourself down on the storage box next to the bed, after Mando removed his grip from you.

_Fuck. You felt dizzy._

You felt utterly spent, overcome by the rapid heartbeat in your ears and the feeling of your blood beneath your skin and flesh. All you could _feel_ was the anxiety that riddled your body, despite knowing that you were done, finished, that Mando would be okay with some rest and a few changes of gauze over the next few weeks.

You looked at your trembling fingers, seeing every little spot of dried blood that had turned to a muddied brown. All you could feel was his writhing body, his pain, his groans—

But that stopped as soon as Mando placed his hand on your cheek.

You looked up at him, flittering your eyes over his helmet and travelling them down to his, now mostly gauze covered, chest. God, that chest. You couldn’t believe you’d just _touched_ his chest freely, but not for the reasons that you’d ever wanted to before. Stars, you _never_ wanted to see him wounded like this again, let alone have to sew up his skin a second time.

“I was right to trust you,” He said softly, circling his thumb rhythmically over your warm cheeks. You let out an abrupt scoff, needing to find comedy in this situation before you utterly exploded into tears and cries.

“ _Stupid_ decision. You’re just lucky that I’m good under pressure,” _Good under pressure. What a blatant fucking lie, evidently._

“No,” He spoke up. “You’re good in general,”

_Stars. If only he knew all that you’d done in your life. He would be a saint in comparison._

You allowed yourself to let go, to feel only the touch of his fingers upon your cheek. Those hands, you loved the roughness, the coarseness, the gentleness of the ridges between his fingers and his palm. It was enough to calm you down tenfold, sucking away the anxiety and the _fear_ that had settled within you over the past week.

“It’s late,” You spoke, sending him a small smile. “I should get back before dawn,”

Mando went stiff, so abruptly that you thought something had happened with his wound. You frowned, reaching out to the gauze, but he kept you in place by swivelling himself round on the bed to face you fully. You gasped when he raised his other hand to your face, holding your head in his hands and staring directly into your goddamn soul.

“You could stay,” He whispered it, allowing his voice to penetrate the entire space around you, filtering through your ears and travelling down your spine, causing you to involuntarily shiver. “Till morning, when it’s safe to go back into town,”

_Safe. On Nevarro? That didn’t exist. But he was right—daytime in the city is better than the dark._

You tried not to visibly squirm. This was _new,_ this was... unexpected. When before, Mando had been so quick to turn down staying at your shop, he was suddenly offering you the same on a silver platter. But this was different—both of you knew _nothing_ could happen that evening, not with his wound, not with your exhaustion.

The thought of sleeping on the floor of a ship had never appealed to you before, until you factored in the fact that _Mando_ would be there, too. Whether he stayed on the sad excuse for a bed with his legs dangling off the end, or whether he joined you on the floor, you’d be next to him.

It was an offer that you, unapologetically, weren’t going to say no to. But you also didn’t want to reveal just how much his offer had set you alight. You felt it in the tips of your fingers, electricity shooting its way up your arms and out from your chest, igniting all the senses in your body until your hairs stood on end at the mere _thought_ of being this close to him for a night.

When before, you’d stolen time with him between his jobs, lucky to get a few hours with the hunter a week before he had to leave and you were left with the wondering worries of his safety; _now?_ This was a different level. He’d invited you to stay.

And you said the only answer you could think of—

“Okay,”

Before you had the chance to move, you _heard_ something from behind you—it didn’t sound like a person, it sounded like... gurgling? It made you jump out of your skin, forgetting about the comforting touch of the Mandalorian before you. You saw Mando’s head drop in defeat, but you didn’t know what _for._

“Click that button,” He said lowly, pointing to a control pad beside a built-in closet space in the hull. You got up tentatively, standing before the doors of the closet, before pressing the button Mando had gestured to—

What met you were the biggest eyes you’d ever seen. Black, deep, and absolutely _adorable._ Its ears were _something else._ Huge, compared to the tiny body it possessed, covered in a potato sack of a robe that was far too big for it.

“ _Stars_...” Was all you managed to let out. “What—what is it?” Your brain was struggling to determine whether or not it was _cute_ or _ugly,_ but when it let out the most adorable of gurgles, you ultimately landed on cute—cute as fuck.

“Baby,” Mando replied, as if it was _obvious._

“ _A baby?”_ You let out in disbelief. “Mando—why the kriff do you have a baby in your closet?” You turned back to him, acknowledging the way he didn’t even seem bothered about the little green, hairy, monster baby in his ship.

You shot your gaze back to the kid when he blurted out a confused laugh, almost as if he was asking _who’s this?_

“I need rest,” He replied. “I’ll... explain in the morning,”

The _morning._ Stars, you’d get to see him in the morning. And you’d get to see... his _baby._ As much as you wanted to object, to know everything right that second, you were also fighting off your own exhaustion. You couldn’t imagine the physical strain that Mando was feeling, and that was enough to get you to stop with the questioning.

You strolled back to his bedside, picking up his bloodied shirt on the way and folding it up, before placing it on the floor by the medical bed. “You take the bed—,” He began, but you cut him off immediately.

“ _No way_ , you’re the one with fourteen new stitches,” You scoffed. You looked around the ship, spotting a bundled blanket by some open floor space on the hull. “I’m fine on the floor,”

“Just—,” He went to protest, but you placed a finger over where you assumed his mouth would be on his helmet.

“Don’t fight with me now, Mando. Not after I’ve given you stitches and met your _son,_ ”

Maybe he wanted to object further, but at that moment he simply accepted your word. He laid back on the bed, stretching his long torso out until most of his body was being supported by the rickety mattress. He turned his helmet towards the closet, staring at the kid. “Be good. We have a guest,” You ignored the violent blush of your cheeks at his parenting voice. _Stars, why was this sexy?_ “Can you... shut the door...” Mando’s voice trailed off, as you realised the exhaustion and shock was full taking over his body.

You did as he asked, carrying the blanket you saw earlier while you approached the kid once more. You gave him another once over, not being able to help the small smile that appeared on your lips—god, he was cute. He was green and hairy and had wrinkles, but fuck, he was _cute._ You couldn’t wait to hear _this_ story.

With the click on the control panel, the door was sealed again once more, keeping the kid safe and sound for the night. You settled yourself on the floor of the hull, spreading out the blanket and lying yourself out on it, before wrapping the excess around you like a sleeping bag. Honestly, you’d slept in worse places, and knowing that Mando was mere meters away from you meant you _didn’t give a shit._

“Goodnight, Mando,” You whispered, knowing he wouldn’t hear you at all. The sound of subtle snores was already trickling from his modulator.

You knew then, as you settled onto the cold, metal hull of the Razor Crest, that for the first time all week, you weren’t thinking about your past. As you shut your eyes and sleep began to take you, instead of that naïve girl from seven years ago meeting you on the other side—

It was Mando; asking you to stay forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steaminess is incoming... very much incoming. Just you wait. 
> 
> Tumblr: @light-yaers


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in bitches and get ready for some SMUT. I indulged in this chapter, after the fluff of chapter four. It's shorter than the others, but it's full to fucking bursting. 
> 
> Thank you so much for 100 KUDOS AND 1K HITS!! That's honestly amazing, it's been five goddamn days. I appreciate every single reader and comment and like and EVERYTHING. The engagement I've been getting on Tumblr as well has been so lovely and welcomed, so if you ever want to chat or see updates of me while I write this baby, I'm @light-yaers on Tumblr, and I will be very happy to see you. 
> 
> lightyaers x

You know that sleepiness, the kind that seeps into your bones and makes you weigh a thousand pounds, that makes it impossible to get up and to acknowledge what’s going on around you without more than a grunt of affirmation? That’s what you had, as soon as you felt _him_ slide on the floor next to you.

The time? You couldn’t say. All you were experiencing was the best nights’ sleep you’d had in several years on this god forsaken planet, even if you were sleeping on the cold, metal hull of the Razor Crest. You felt the warmth of his skin first, only groaning slightly as he managed to lie down on the floor next to you.

Instinctively, you covered a portion of blanket over him, eyes still half closed and brain almost still in a deep sleep. He accepted it silently, slotting his body next to your own. You heard the unmistakable clink of his helmet upon the floor, and then—he was _out._

Both of you were, immediately drifting back to sleep in each other’s embrace, without the tension or the awkwardness or anything that came with you and Mando slowly experiencing intimacy again.

You dreamt of him, or maybe you dream of both of you. It was a blur of Beskar and tight muscles, of his sweat gleamed chest, of his rough and comforting hands upon every part of your body. You were in the shop, or on his ship, or in some unknown location that you barely noticed, all because you were staring at _him,_ and only him. Your dream-self gasped as he raised two hands to his helmet, tugging off the Beskar until you were about to see his face—

And then it _switched._ There was a crash, a bang, and the heat of a thousand engines firing at once as you were thrown backwards. You couldn’t see Mando, you couldn’t see _anything,_ but you felt the pitter patter of your heart, and you _knew—_

_They’d found you._

When you opened your eyes, your entire body buzzed. You were still on the floor of the Razor Crest, tucked up against Mando as he lay next to you, but stars—you were fucking terrified. You tried to breathe, to release the unneeded anxiety and tension from what your subconscious had just drilled into a perfect dream, but it was almost impossible. You were shivering, your entire body shaking and throbbing in pain, begging for comfort and relief.

“Nightmare?” He croaked next to you. You looked up at his visor, noticing the downward angle of his helmet focused on your face.

“It’s nothing,” You breathed out in response. As much as you wanted to overflow, to tell him everything, it would only serve to make things a hundred times more complicated.

“I get them. Sometimes,” He admitted, revealing yet another vulnerability of his. He was human, you knew that. He had those same fears, those same desires and feelings. It warmed your heart knowing that he was comfortable to open up to you, to lie next to you, to hold you against his bare chest.

You took a moment to indulge, as your eyes scanned the soft skin of his chest in front of you. Untouched, unscathed, his collarbones protruding sharply beneath his neck and stretching out to curve by his shoulders. His pectorals were defined and _hard_ from years of training. You were struck with the want to bite into one without hesitation, but you stopped yourself from the embarrassment.

Tentatively, you coiled your fingers out from under the blanket, settling your hand slowly upon his chest and just _holding_ it there, allowing him to get used to the sensation of your touch upon his bare skin, without the imminent doom of blood loss. He inhaled sharply, which only made him flinch in pain at his stab wound. You retracted your hand immediately, getting flustered at his response, but he _grabbed it—_

And he placed it back on his chest, holding you for a few seconds before he placed his hand by his side once again.

“You shouldn’t have moved from the bed last night,” You whispered out, hesitantly flittering your fingers over his pectorals. He was breathing harshly, feverishly, showing his _strain_ at trying to stay in control of his desires.

“I don’t care,” He replied, hunger present in his voice. You tried not to squirm, as you felt an unmistakable _throb_ from between your legs. You swiped your hand upwards, smoothing your fingers over his collarbone and the small dip underneath his neck.

He shuddered at your touch, making you blush significantly. Mando had an immediate effect on you with his words, the touch of his fingers on you, but now it was _his turn._ You’d wanted to do this for some time; feel him, feel him quiver at your touch, feel him melt into your grip as your fingers traced his skin.

When your fingers walked their way up to his neck, his arm shot out to you in an instant. He angled himself into you, face to face, touch to touch, as his fingers dug into your waist ferociously. In that moment, he didn’t seem concerned about his wound or the definite pain he was experiencing—all he felt was _you._

“If you like my fingers, just wait until I kiss you on these spots, one day,” You whispered, stretching yourself out as another wave of pleasure flooded through your body. Mando’s hand didn’t wait to explore, as it trickled down your hips, your thigh, finding the nook behind your knee.

You gasped as he raised your leg to drape over his lower half, wrapping around his hips and making sure that you _felt_ him— _achingly_ hard beneath his trousers and the Beskar plates that still lined his legs. As much as you _wanted this,_ wanted to unbutton his waistband and hold him in your hand firmly, you were all too aware of the wound that sat far too close to his groin.

“Mando,” You whispered in slight disappointment. “We can’t—not with your wound,” He didn’t make a sound, opting only to keep trickling his fingers up and down the curve of your thigh, skimming the bottom of your ass temptingly, before repeating the rhythm over and over again.

“I know,” He growled out. “But you should know. As soon as I’m healed, _this—_ ,” _Stars_ —he moved his hand at light speed to between your legs, cupping his palm over your pussy entirely. You fucking _lost it—_ you squirmed, you squealed, you held in your breath as every fibre of your being, every limb, every hair, tensed up at his touch. It only served to make your clit throb uncontrollably; it was something that he could definitely _feel._

Stars— he wasn’t even _doing_ anything—he’d just placed his hand over you, no movements, no circular motions over the top of your clothes, and _this_ was how you felt? The tension was _killing you._ You wanted him, you wanted his cock in your hand, your mouth, your achingly desperate pussy; stars, you wanted to feel every inch of him.

“This is the first place I’ll be visiting,” _Fuck—stars._ You actually let out a whimper, involuntarily allowing him to see you unwind at his very welcome proposition. You could burst just from imagining him down there, between your legs, using his skilful hands for something other than collecting quarries or firing his blaster.

You were utterly broken, not even noticing that you’d been digging your fingernails into the soft skin of Mando’s neck. You removed your hand, noticing the subtle crescent shapes that you’d indented into his skin.

It took all of your strength not to shake, as you pushed yourself further into him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and slowly, delicately, _frustratingly,_ fluttering your lips over the marks you’d pressed into him.

The moan Mando let out was not one of pain, but of _immense fucking pleasure._ His entire body tensed, prompting his grip on your pussy to _tighten._ You moaned into his ear agonisingly, ignoring the way your thighs had started to tremble at his touch, as you continued to work your lips over his skin. You kissed him gently, until your nail marks were gone, and when they’d disappeared you moved down—

You worked your way over his collarbones, swiping your tongue over them until he was putty in your hands. You kissed his pectorals, nipping at his skin to satisfy your immense want to _bite_ into them like apples. Goosebumps appeared all over his chest, his arms, as his body succumbed to your prolonged affection.

He was fucking _radiating_ heat. You could see the drops of sweat as they appeared on his skin, as his cock continued to throb faster and faster beneath the sanctuary of your upper thigh.

When you finally reached the last of his uncovered chest, before the gauze covered his stomach, he grew _wildly impatient._ Without warning, his hand started to rub between your legs—and _stars—_

“Fuck— _fuck,_ Man— _Mando—,”_ You shuddered, letting out pleas and begs without realising what the fuck you were saying, but he _didn’t stop._ He only kept going, indulging in the glorious way your body flinched and stuttered and burst out his name at moments when you were sure you were about to cum beneath your clothes.

“Tell me,” He said, continuing his fucking hypnotising touch over your pussy, but only now starting to focus more on where your clit was. This man was a wizard—he found it _incredibly fast,_ feeling you in depth and noticing the way the breath caught in your throat at his repetitive rubbing movements when he skimmed past your clit each time, figuring out that _that_ was where he’d fully make you come undone. “Tell me if you want me to stop,”

_Stop? Stars—why the fuck would you want him to stop?_

“ _Don’t_ stop—,” You burst out, and before you had time to react, he’d hoisted himself to peer down at you. His chest fit snuggly between your legs as they wrapped around him securely, his hand still _very much_ content feeling you over your clothes.

You knew what you looked like—red blush covering your cheeks, only indicating the severe pleasure that you were biting down on your tongue to contain. You were still fully dressed, but he didn’t fucking care; he was only looking at your face, ignoring the new stitches on his stomach and working only towards this satisfaction.

Stars, is this what he’d look like fucking you? Stifling moans beneath his helmet as his hand worked tirelessly to pleasure you, to find your clit, to begin circular motions that he evidently had done before. You wanted to ask him _how the fuck_ he’d learned this—how someone as private and merciless as him had gone about satisfying his cravings over the years.

Your hands found his waistband, tugging him forward ferociously, so his cock laid flush against you. _Stars—you couldn’t take it anymore._ You wanted to scream, scream for him to strip you off and fuck you unapologetically, filling you to bursting and hearing your name flutter from his lips in longing.

“I wish I could kiss you, Mando,” You whispered out quickly, as the pleasure pumped through your blood and made you _stupid._ Feverish, squirming, wanting to slam your lips against his own while he got close to making you cum. Stars, that’s all you wanted. Even if it meant you closed your eyes, even if it meant he fucked you in the dark; you _wanted_ his lips available to you at all times.

“After last night, I—,” He groaned deliciously. “I wanted the same thing,” God, you loved it when he talked. When he opened up to you like this, without one-word answers, allowing the hunger and want and cravings in his voice to ring true. You wanted Mando to keep fucking talking and never stop. “I want to bite that lip on your smart mouth. I want to see the blush take over your entire body,”

_Stars—you were close._ Your squirming increased tenfold, trying desperately to angle your body away from his touches at the overstimulating sensation, after so long untouched, but all that Mando did was go _harder and faster._ Speeding up his movements, savouring the look on your face as your eyes began to roll back in your head involuntarily.

“K-Keep talking,” You gripped onto his arms for stability, feeling the aggressive contractions of his biceps while he worked to make you fucking crumble. He leaned in closer, tightening his jaw through the obvious pain in his wound, as he gently placed his helmet against your forehead. You looked up into his visor, trying desperately to find his eyes, like you always did.

“Tell me, are you close?” He asked, trickling his deliciously aroused voice into your ears. You bit your lip to stop yourself from squealing, nodding at him innocently as his patterns on your pussy didn’t cease. “Good girl,” Oh _stars—fucking bastard._ A warmth appeared in your belly, and you _knew,_ it would be mere seconds before you couldn’t hold it any longer.

You let out a pained curse, feeling your heart rate accelerate beneath your ribs. The sensation in your pussy was rising, tensing your entire body as you began to slip over the edge. “Mando— _fuck,_ I’m going— I’m going to—,”

“Cum for me,” Was all he said, speeding up his pace over your clit. You dug your nails into the back of his neck as your entire body screamed out for relief, for this release, to cum from his hands—

That’s when a small figure appeared in your peripheral; green, hairy, with huge eyes. Instead of a scream of _pleasure,_ you screamed in surprise. Mando immediately retracted his grip from you, jumping up from the floor and just _standing there—_

Glaring at the _kid_ with insatiable anger.

The kid looked to his father innocently, unaware of what the hell was going on. You stayed on the ground, snapping your legs shut immediately and covering yourself with the blanket in a rush. Embarrassment replaced the pleasure over your cheeks, as your entire body lost all sense of arousal in a matter of moments.

Mando stepped forward, picking up the kid with an annoyed huff. “What did I say about letting yourself out of the cubby?” His voice was stern, scolding the kid for effectively leaving his room—for fully _cockblocking him_. He trudged the kid back to the cubby, placing him inside and raising a finger in front of his face. “Stay. Five minutes, then you can come out,” The kid let out an innocent blub, before Mando closed up the hatch of the cubby.

_Silence._

Oh, stars, it was fucking awkward.

You buried your head in the blanket, trying not to squirm from the awkward tension that had travelled throughout the Razor Crest as soon as the kid had showed up. You could sense Mando, standing over you, just looking as you wallowed in this situation. You forced yourself to look up at him, blanket still covering most of you, only revealing your eyes as they flicked around to find his visor—

And then you _fucking laughed._ You burst out with giggles that you couldn’t control, having to bring a hand over your mouth to stop you from yelling at the comedy of what the hell just fucking happened. Mando’s fingers twitched, but you saw the rise and fall of his shoulders, following your lead.

You were crying real tears by the time you finally calmed down, wiping your hands over his face as you regained some of your composure.

“So, do I get an explanation, now?” You stuttered out, sitting up and resting your head against the wall of the hull. Mando sat on the medical bed, letting out a final puff of breathy laughter.

“Long version, or short version?” He questioned. It only piqued your interest to a hundred.

“Both,” You replied enthusiastically.

Mando exhaled, preparing himself to speak. He told you all about the kid, the bounty on his head, the masses of hunters outside the kid’s door. He’d rescued the child and got attached, too far removed from his duties to ever actually give him up to the client. You listened intently, hearing the way he spoke about the kid and the adventures they’d had on collections since he’d saved him.

It was enough to warm your heart to oblivion. This stoic hunter, this Mandalorian, had taken in a child willingly.

“You saved him,” You let out, after he was finished speaking. Mando looked towards the shut door of the cubby thoughtfully. “You did a good thing, Mando,”

“Would have saved me a lot of grief if I’d just done my job,” He began, but there was no malice in his voice. He knew he’d made the right decision; both for the kid, and for his conscience. “Had to stay away from Nevarro for a while when it was hot,”

You smiled at him, regarding the way he looked so _comfortable._ You knew opening up wasn’t exactly second nature to Mando, but he’d done it all the same. He’d delivered an explanation, like he’d said he would.

“I’m glad you came back,” You spoke quietly. Mando tilted his helmet towards you, breathing slowly through the modulator. It was crazy how exposed he could make you feel, despite the fact that he’d been up close and personal with your fucking pussy only minutes before. That unwavering stare, the wonder of what lay beneath: that would always be the main thing that got you about the Mandalorian.

He got up slowly, striding over to the cubby and opening it up. He picked up the kid gently, cradling him in his arms and receiving greetings of several adorable gurgles and squeals. His little green hands found Mando’s helmet, patting them gently against the Beskar with excitement.

“Do you... need to get back yet?” He asked tentatively. In reality, you probably _did._ You had two order collections to fulfil, but fuck it—they could wait. You shook your head with a smile. Mando knelt to the floor, slowly popping the baby on the blanket next to you. “Can you watch him while I clean up?”

You’d never babysat anything before, let alone a little green monster, with ears that could whip at you by mistake with the turn of his head. He looked at you warily, not yet accustomed to who you were. Children _weren’t_ your strong suit, not one bit, but just knowing that Mando had trusted you enough to look after him while he got himself back in one piece made it all seem okay.

You played with him, speaking to him when he made noises in your direction. “What? What’s that on the wall, huh?” You asked, while he pointed to different parts of the hull. He bobbled around slowly, as the tiny pitter patter of his feet rang throughout the calm ship.

Mando was in the fresher, round the corner from where you sat overseeing the kid. You heard the shower start, filling you with a curious anxiety that you couldn’t shake. He obviously had to take the kit off to shower—was Mando... _naked_ in there? Surely not, not with the gauze still wrapped around his chest.

You hazarded a look at the door of the fresher, spotting the remnants of his leg armour on the floor outside, as well as a wrapped up ball of gauze. You sighed, knowing that showering with stitches immediately after having them done was probably _not_ the best idea, but whatever; it was his home. You weren’t responsible for him.

You turned back to the kid, smiling at him and sticking your arms out for him while he teetered over to where you were sat. He crawled up the blanket, staring at you with his huge eyes the entire time, until he’d reached your lap. You picked him up gently, placing him on your knee snuggly.

But you flinched when you heard the _scuff._ You flicked your gaze to the fresher door once more, only to see Mando’s bare arm retracting back into the shower, after he’d just placed his _helmet_ outside the door.

_Stars—he_ was _naked._

But he was also _not wearing his helmet._ You shot your gaze back to the kid, when he started getting impatient at your lack of attention towards him. You bounced him on your knee anxiously, trying not to get utterly flustered at the image of Mando’s helmet, sat only meters away from you.

The breath hitched in your throat when you heard the shower stop. Without the splashes of falling water, you heard the gentle pats of Mando’s bare feet on the wet floor, the muffled sounds of a towel rubbing over his body or ruffling through his hair—

His _hair._ You’d imagined his face before; dark eyes, strong features, sprinkles of stubble on his jaw and above his lip, maybe. You couldn’t imagine him as a blonde, it just didn’t fit Mando. You pictured him as a brunette, warm and deep and awash with oranges and reds amongst the darkness of a mahogany brown. And curls—god, you sort of _wished_ he had curls, but under that helmet they were probably all but flattened.

“Have you got the kid?” His voice echoed from the refresher, making you jump with nerves.

“Yes,” You replied simply.

“Put him in the cubby,” Mando responded. You got up immediately, almost tripping as your feet got tangled in the blanket beneath you. You popped the kid back in the cubby, shooting him an apologetic smile, before shutting the hatch on his slowly dropping ears.

“He’s in the cubby,” You replied, trying not to show the utter anxiety in your voice.

“Okay,” Mando breathed out. “Shut your eyes. Keep them closed, until I say,”

_Stars, he was about to walk in front of you without his helmet on._

You clamped your eyes shut, almost as a reflex. Your body pulsed with anticipation, knowing that if you were to slip up, even for a second, you’d see him. It didn’t sit well with you—you knew the Mandalorian’s were devout to their home, to their religion. This was a part that you respected wholeheartedly; you wouldn’t betray Mando like that, not ever.

“I’m not looking,” You breathed out, staying in place by the cubby, frozen to your spot. The doors of the refresher opened up, and out walked Mando. He didn’t put on his helmet first, by the absence of scratching Beskar upon the metal of the hull. Maybe he was pulling on his trousers, or finding a clean shirt to slot over his head, without the trouble of it getting stuck over the helmet.

Either way, you waited. You kept your eyes closed, you kept your mouth shut, but your other senses were dialled to a hundred. The smell of soap floated towards you, alongside the mugginess of steam in the air. It made your skin prickle subtly, as the miniscule rise in temperature from his hot shower filled the usually very _cold_ hull.

Or maybe that heat was just _you._ It was hard to tell.

You inhaled sharply when you sensed him approach you. Bodies were strange like that; sensing another close to you even without having vision. You gasped when his hands wrapped around your waist gently. He wasn’t wearing his Beskar yet, allowing him to fully press his chest against your own, as his hands trailed up your back, drawing patterns on your spine over your clothes.

You clamped your eyes shut even more so, knowing that he hadn’t said the word yet, hadn’t said it was safe to look. Stars—was he _face to face_ with you? Without the addition of Beskar keep you apart?

“Smart mouth,” He whispered, and stars, he sounded different. His voice was silky smooth, cascading over you and making your legs tremble slightly. There was no modulation, no added mechanical drawl. This was his _voice—_ his real voice. And stars, it was beautiful.

You’d bet that his face was, too.

He pulled you into him, and all of sudden, his lips were upon your own. It was slow to begin with, while he found his footing and got used to this kind of intimacy, but stars—you were dying. You fell into him immediately, still too afraid to place your hands anywhere above his collarbones, but you clutched onto him for dear life.

His lips were soft, plush, pushing up against your own both with a hungry ferocity and also a sweetness that you indulged in. He was savouring this moment, relishing in the fact that he’d got what he’d wanted after last night. Facial hair tickled at your skin, and you ticked off a few elements on your imaginary Mando list— _facial hair, that’s a truth._

He slowed his kiss, only to nip at your lower lip and no doubt watch the way the blush _spread_ over your face. You heard him as he let out a subtle, breathy chuckle, cementing that you were definitely the colour of a raspberry. Fuck, you’d let him bite your entire body if he wanted to.

Placing a final, agonisingly gentle, peck on your lips in goodbye, he parted from you as quickly as he’d approached. You exhaled painfully, reaching out to try and keep him close, but the sound of Beskar scratching metal was all that hit you. “You can open your eyes,” His modulated drawl spoke, almost sadly.

You opened your eyes slowly, taking in your surroundings once more. Mando stood before you, helmet on and fresh clothes covering his limbs. “You need to put fresh gauze on,” Was all you said, stutteringly so, prompting a huff from beneath his helmet. You were simply trying to draw his attention away from your blisteringly rouge face.

“On it,” He replied, amused. You nodded at him, almost _professionally,_ before you looked away, suddenly all too interested in finding your sewing kit. Stars, you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to tell him that your heart was beating so fast that you were sure you’d go into cardiac arrest. You didn’t know how to tell him that that was the safest you’d ever felt in someone else’s embrace.

You found the sewing kit, haphazardly throwing the needle and thread back inside and closing it up quickly, stuffing it back into the pocket of your jacket before you turned back to him. The bastard was leaned back against the hull wall, arms crossed, just looking at how fucking flustered you were.

“If you get stabbed again,” You started, not knowing how else to convey that you thoroughly enjoyed being in his ship with him— _and_ the kid. “You know who to call,”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Mando began, with an air of confidence that he’d _never fucking had before,_ until he’d kissed you on the mouth. He was revelling in the way he’d made you speechless, made you tremble, made you want _more._ “Even if I’m not critically injured, I know who to call,”

You nodded once, trying to make yourself seem unbothered, but fuck if it actually worked. Mando was soaking you up completely, and stars, there was nothing you could fucking do about it; except _suffer._

“Good,” You let out. “I’ll be going,” You added, striding to the ramp and hitting the button sternly. The ramp began to descend, fucking _slowly,_ so you simply had to stand there and wait while Mando’s stare pierced your back, making your neck hairs stand up.

“See you next week,” Mando spoke, just as the ramp touched the ground. You couldn’t speak—stars, _why_ couldn’t you speak? You nodded to the floor, striding out of the Razor Crest as you tried not to fucking implode at your own feelings, about to bubble over. You needed to scream, you needed to shoot your blaster at the firing range until your trigger finger fell off, just to expel the utter _bliss_ you felt.

You were halfway back to the shop when his voice rang out over the communicator—

“That blush,” He spoke, the hint of amusement still on his lips. You furrowed your brows in anger, hating how easily he reduced you to a fumbling mess. This man—this _fucking man._

“ _Shut up_ , Mando,” You fired back, beginning to huff and puff as you picked up the pace back to the shop.

“Make me,” He growled in response, before he the comms went dead.

_Oh. You would._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah. Mr Brunette Curls. Mr Cocky Bastard. 
> 
> Tumblr: @light-yaers


End file.
